.

im a skinny nerd who was also a wimp and super shy. one afternoon i was walking across the college campus when a pair of big burly hands grabbed me , punched me in the gut.When i came to ,i was tied up in a chair in the male locker room with my mouth coved with duct tape , and was surrounded by the hairiest, most manly, most self-centered, most muscled guys on campus : The college football team. the football team was wearing gray tank tops with a crimson design & crimson basketball shorts . They told me that each fall they capture a college freshman nerd take him to the locker room & the jocks take that geek & they make that geek into one of their own. that this year i was that nerd & that soon i will no longer a nerd& that i was going to become a jock . first they untied me from that chair & they move me to a bench & they tied my legs to a bar below the bench and my hands two the pegs above. then they started cutting up & taking off my red star trek t-shirt & my jeans & and threw away mine "geeky" white briefs, then made me on a jock strap and Striped Red boxers. They were so uncomfortable! i saw a gym bag in a corner with other pairs of boxers& jockstraps& clothes such as gym shorts, tank top, sweats,  and a table right in front of me on that table was a football uniform, The helmet, cleats, jersey, and gear .they shoe me the jersey with my last name. i watch as they start to put me in my football uniformed which cause to change me from a nerd into a jock .first the jocks put jock deodorant which change my hair less nerdy armpits into hairy jock armpits .i have hairy armpits now the jock said Relax "Hairy pits are perfectly normal on a football jock, like you are going to be. How else did you think your going to stink like a football player after a big game with your hairless, girly armpits!". With a grimace on my face; i didn't want to stink like a jock! They reeked, and i never had to worry about body odor before, at all!.next they put shaving cream on my face which cause my face to grow a brown beard .i was  furious i was being pinned down by the football jocks while my face sprouted a thick beard, as the shaving cream did its job. i had my arms pinned above me , exposing my freshly grown armpit bushes. "Well hairy pits and a scruffy face are only the first of many steps!" the team caption announced, while playfully tugging on my new clump of pit hair. "But for the rest of the changes, we need something to kick start the process; some jock sweat!". they cover me in jock sweat the jocks very strong and pungent body odor they absolutely reeked .i realized with a strong feeling of embarrassment, that my new thick tufts of armpit hair produced the same body odor as them now. .They put in a huge green mouthguard  which change my high nerdy voice to a deep jock voice. The huge green mouthguard was already wet with spittle. i wasn't ready for it, having never worn one before. With each gag and as i swallowed the spit, he started to feel a lump start to grow in my strained neck as the start of an Adam's apple began to protrude and swell up, ending the boyish arc of my throat. "Mmmf" i said as i struggled, trying to twist out of grip without luck. i stopped fighting and the jocks just let me sit there clenching his teeth and getting used to the feel of the device collecting spit in his mouth. Finally they let me take it my voice lurched upward, cracked, and then suddenly dropped almost two octaves . "WHOA" i said grabbing my throat, the whoa coming out even a bit lower if possible. "NO GUYS. HOW AM I GONNA HAVE TO SPEAK LIKE... THIS?" Sounds good on ya, bro the jocks said .next they a put bright orange protective cup, several sizes too big for me which caused my small nerd dick into a huge jock dick was at least 8 inches soft; i could not even begin to guess how long it was hard. .i dont want to be a jock but am I destined to be swallowed whole by the football persona my  new football bros seek to impose upon me?

Bruh, stop resisting. You are already one of us. As soon as I grab you by your jockstrap, you get a hard-on. As soon as one of us grabs his own jockstrap, you get a hard-on. Accept it. You are a bro.

The next level is my favorite level. The "dressing." The sleeveless t-shirt has never been washed. And everyone on the team has worked out in it at least once. Next time you will soak it with your bro sweat. We'll slowly pull it over your head. Forget it, you can't hold your breath that long. You have to breathe in the stench of the shirt. Already at the second breath your disgust turns into lust. Your head fills with memories of how you led your friends in kindergarten and bullied the weaklings. You've been playing football since you were 10 years old. Since you were 16, the gym has been your second home. You haven't done homework in two years. Therefore you have your nerds, who are allowed to stick their face into your hairy, dump armpits from time to time. Or to wash your pickup truck. They can then claim that they are doing it for a friend. Of course, you would never even have eye contact with one of these losers in public.

The tank top fits. Your arms are bursting with muscle. Your neck is almost wider than your head. And your cheap shitty haircut has turned into an honest buzzcut cut by yourself with a long hair cutter. Okay, it's been a few days. But what are you? An effeminate model? Men don't give a shit about their hair.

Fuck, why are you lying here on the weight bench without your sweatshorts. Must have happened while fucking. You pull up your shorts and put on your size 14 training shoes over your dirty sweaty socks. In the process, you let loose a mighty protein fart. Damn, that was a good one. And it was urgent. One of the lads on defense laughs and says that no one farts like the former nerds.

Nobody calls you a former nerd. You press your broh on the weight bench. "Who's a nerd here?" you ask. He stares at you lustfully. "Me, sir!" "Good boy," you reply, snotting in his face. "Bruhs, Pete and I will be right behind you on the football field, we have some business to do here," you say. The others understand and leave. No one here doubts your alpha position.

Pictures of you are going viral now. This one I found @stargazerguy

would love to be transformed into a sweaty stinking guy that's too hairy for his own good. I love a good muscle growth but I wouldn't be opposed to growing a big muscle gut either.

You want to become a big stinking sweating mountain of a man, we can grant that wish. Normally its my job to put guys in that position when they didn't specifically ask for it but because you did you'll get exactly what you asked for, and maybe a bit more.

what's the saying never too much of a good thing?

so first order of business piling on the muscle, lets take that body of yours and beef you right up like you've been lifting for years, filling you all the way up almost to your natural limit.

How easy was that? Yeah I know you said that you wanted to be stinking and too hairy for your own good but be patient we're getting there.

The next thing we need is hair and lots of it! make your pits fluffy, make you chest 2, NO, 3x as hairy and cover your arms and legs with the stuff. That discomfort around your ass isn't going to disappear either, there is so much hair down their now its going to rub up against you pants and become so itchy you'll be scratching your ass like a dumb ape.

How's that for hairy! Now with all that hair comes warmth, and with warmth comes sweaty 24/7 but here's the fun part, because you're so hairy it'll never fully fall off your body, it's just going to get tangled in that hair and cause you to reek, I'd say you're close to getting your own cartoonish stink cloud follow you around, give it a day and it will be in everything you own. That sweat and stench is going to seep through your clothes, everything you ever wear will be wet with sweat. Its going to get in your car seat, in your couch and in your bed, every time you sit on any of those it is going to squelch as old sweat is squeezed out like a sponge, your carpet will become stained with footprints from where you walked and it clung to the ground. I wouldn't recommend standing in one place too long mate or a puddle might start to form.

Try to keep those pits down mate, you don't want people passing out all around you, and if your stench starts peeling the paint on the walls of the gym I'm pretty sure they'll make you pay for it.

But I don't think we are quite done yet, no, I think there is one final change we can make to ruin you.

---

You wake up in your new body, the first thing you notice is the powerful smell of your house, stinking like no one has ever opened a window in any gym ever and all of it is trapped in your house. A small rush of excitement hits you, the wish your were probably too horny to make came true. You stuff your nose in your pits and breath in the stink of an entire locker room, all trapped in one arm pit.

Your stomach growls for food. Throwing a black tank top on you head to the kitchen to mix up a protein shake. Your new size demanded food, so you made a triple protein shake with triple the oats and fruit most call for. You raise the blender to you lips and start to drink, as you do you feel some slip out between the blender and the sides of your lips, running down your new beard and falling on your clean shirt. You chuckle looking down at the tank top growing darker as your sweat seeps into the fabric you take your finger and scoop up some of the protein.

"maybe I need a clean shirt before the gym, or at least one without food" you laugh as you walk back to your room, struggling to take off the tank top unassisted.

opening the door to your wardrobe you are greeted with the smell of sweat, musk and...stale protein? it smells like someone left their protein shaker in a locker for a year. Looking at the selection of tank tops you notice all of them have food stains down the front, some even have dried oats still stuck like you'd spilt your shake and simply hung it out to dry. Your shorts were similar, stains on the side from wiping your hands, even all your underwear stored in a small basket at the bottom of the wardrobe were riddled with old jizz stains and droplets of protein from drinking shakes in your underwear.

in confusion you scratch your beard pushing the dried shake you forgot was there deeper into the hair. Your stomach rumbles and you release a pent up belch reeking of protein followed by another growl in you stomach as more gas begins to brew.

"shit, I thought, I thought I was just gonna be a hairy bodybuilder with some B.O. not, I didn't want.."

but it doesn't matter what you want now mate, you wanted to stink so I gave you wanted, enjoy your life as a big, muscular, hairy, stinking,

fucking muscle S L O B

Had been feeling a bit selfconscious about my body hair because it’s just getting hot enough that we can wear shorts and other clothes that don’t cover the legs and armpits. It always takes some getting used to the fact that it’s now suddenly much more visible that I don’t conform to the norm while pretty much every other woman I see does. But this morning was the first time I went to my volunteer job in shorts and one of my coworkers was talking about how she couldn’t wear shorts yet because she hadn’t shaved, and I pointed out my hairy legs and she said she wasn’t ready yet to go without shaving but agreed it is a stupid standard. She said she really appreciated seeing a woman who doesn’t shave and that she wants to go without in the future. So now suddenly I feel absolutely great about my hairy legs and plan on wearing a tank top next time so my pit hair is out as well. Hope that more women will see it and realise it is an option to just be your hairy natural self.

A (not comprehensive) List of Little Self Care Things I Do When Everything Feels Like Too Much:

Bathing

Wash just your body, or just your hair. You may not be completely clean, but you ARE cleaner

Still feels like too much? No problem!

Take off any jewelry from your hands/wrists and wash your hands up to your elbows, just taking your time

Then wash your arm pits and groin, those are the stinkiest parts of the body

If you're feeling up to it, wash your face too

Once you're done washing, take your favorite body lotion and massage it in anywhere you washed

Shaving

Shaving takes time and patience (especially if you prefer to be mostly hairless), but you don't have to go through the whole process every time

Wanna wear that cute tank top/crop top but don't feel comfortable with how hairy your pits are today?

JUST shave your arm pits then

Wanna wear shorts/capries/a skirt, but feel your legs are too fuzzy?

Where on your legs do the cuffs/hem sit? JUST shave from there down

Facial hair looking kinda scruffy? Got an electric shaver? It won't give you as close a shave as a razor, but it'll help neaten you up a bit

After any shaving, get back in there with your lotion and work it in well

Laundry

Don't have the energy to drag that big basket you've been avoiding down to the washing machine? Out of clothes but need something to wear tomorrow?

Wash ONLY what you'll need for the next 1 or 2 days. A smaller load means less to put away after

Need a bra/binder/mask/etc for tomorrow? Wash ONE, then hang it to dry with a fan blowing on it.

The air movement will help it dry faster, and while it may not be 100% dry by morning, it should be dry enough to wear comfortably

This can be done for underwear and socks as well

Dental

Mouth feeling like sandpaper, but you still can't find it in you to go through the whole tooth care routine?

JUST brush your teeth before bed. You can floss in the morning

No energy to get in there and really scrub like your dentist told you to? Even just a quick scrub is better than nothing

You know those little Gum brand toothpick things? With runber bristles on them? They can't replace proper flossing, but the CAN at least get the worst of the gunk from between your teeth

Food

Hungry but can't bring yourself to put together a whole meal? That's okay!

Get all the fixings for a sandwich (bread, spreads, cheese, meat, etc), put them on a plate and eat that. You're still eating a sandwich, it's just not an assembled sandwich

Want a smoothy, but don't want to fuss with the blender? Put it all together as a yogurt bowl instead

Want a salad? Grab a couple lettuce leaves, a stick of celery, half a tomato, or whatever else you'd have in there, and toss it on a plate. Grab some dressing (or not) and you've got a personal size veggie platter

Cut an orange in half and eat the pulp out with a spoon

Cut an apple in half, and eat JUST one half. You can save the other half for later, or eat it right after the first if you feel up to it

Cutting a banana in half and squeezing out the fruit means you don't have to worry about those gross stringy bits

Simple Smoothie Recipe:

1 banana

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp honey/sugar

Milk (dairy, soy, almond, whichever)

Berries, yogurt, chocolate chips, jam (optional)

Directions

Put all ingredients except milk in a blender (or 4 cup measure if using a hand mixer)

Pour in milk until ingredients are ALMOST covered. There should be about 1 inch/2.5 cm of solid ingredients visible

Blender/mix for 30-60 seconds, or until desired consistency. Pour into your favorite glass, or drink straight from the container

Simple baked potato:

Clean a medium to large potato and use a fork to stab holes down the sides and at each end. Depending on the size, you should have stab your potato somewhere around 9-12 times.

Place the potato in the microwave just off of center, one end facing the center of the spinning plate

Microwave for 15 minutes, flipping the potato end for end after every 5 minutes

Put the potato on a plate with some sour cream or ranch dressing, and dip it like a big ol' french fry

House Cleaning

Feel like there's too many dishes? Pick ONE place setting (bowl, plate, knife, fork, spoon, cup), and ONE pot/pan, and clean those. Do the same at the end of each meal, and while it might take a while, you'll eventually get things down to a manageable level

Dust bunnies breeding in the corners? Pick ONE room or hallway every couple days and just clean there. ONE clean room is better than NO clean rooms

Your room is so messy you don't know where to start? Every time you enter your room, put ONE thing back where it belongs. Every time you leave your room, take one thing that doesn't belong out with you and put it where it belongs.

Sink looking kind of gross? Give it a quick wipe down the next time you wash your hands

Toilet needs a clean? Pick a part (lid, seat, back or bowl) and just clean that bit. Even if you're just wiping some of the dust off the back.

Scum ring building up in the shower/bathtub? Give it a quick scrub next time you bathe. Maybe you don't get the whole thing, but you DID make a start.

Fitness

No energy for a full walk? If you can, walk around your house/apartment building. You might not have gone far, but you were UP and you were OUTSIDE.

Can't get out for whatever reason? Are there stairs in your house? In your apartment building? If you can, walk up and down those a few times.

Not really able to do stairs? Do some simple stretches instead.

Reach down and try to touch your toes, holding for 20 seconds. Reach up over your head as high as you can, holding for 20 seconds. Repeat 5 times

Sitting in a chair, reach your right hand across your body and over your left shoulder and try to grab the back of the chair without lifting your butt. Hold for 20 seconds. Do the same with your left arm, holding for 20 seconds. Repeat 5 times

Standing, or sitting on a chair, gently pull your head towards your shoulder (right hand, right shoulder; left hand, left shoulder), reaching the other hand down towards the ground. Hold for 20 seconds, then gently push your head upright again (lifting your head with just your neck muscles can cause them to seize after a stretch). Repeat 5 times

Miscellaneous

Need to trim your nails, but don't feel like sitting through both hands? Pick one finger on each hand, and just trim that nail. Do another nail on each hand tomorrow, and another the day after that. You don't have to do them all at once

Having trouble remembering to drink enough water? Find a water bottle/mug/glass that you like and try to keep it near you as much as possible. I find actually having a bottle with me helps me remember to keep sipping.

Still having trouble with your water intake? Fruit and veggies (specifically like apples, oranges, tomatoes, bell peppers and avocados to name a few) have high water content and can help keep you hydrated

Even if you can't get to sleep, lieing in bed with your eyes closed is more restful than trying to wear yourself out by reading or something

Alternatively, doing some mild stretches, or a few sit ups/push ups/jumping jacks can help wear you out without engaging your brain too much

You are aloud to say "no". You don't even need to give a reason. If everything feels like too much, taking on more responsibility will only make it worse, which will only make your output poorer as a result.

A reminder that this is by no means a complete list, just some things I've found helpful in my journey through adhd, depression, and anxiety. Not all tasks need to be done all at once. Maybe you can't do much, but that doesn't invalidate the some you did. Just because you take longer to do a task doesn't mean your bad at it, or that it isn't worth doing. You'll get there when you get there.

Please feel free to add to this post, I'd love to see what self care tricks other people are using!

I think about hairy bear Eggman in a tank top all the time. 💕💜💘💖 I like to imagine it being a go to for his casual wear, not only because it's very sexy but also so he can give his body the freedom and air it deserves after his restrictive main outfit that must get very hot! combining this with stretchy sweatpants or shorts is great for that reason too. I also want him to show more skin after his main outfit covers almost his entire body. even better if the neck is low enough to show a good amount of his beautiful hairy chest! no sleeves shows off the hair on his arms and pits and if he's wearing shorts then also the hair on his legs! his body being very hairy like a furry bear is the BEST 💜🥚🐻

I love thinking about a tank top snug enough to hug his titties perfectly and accentuate them, rather than holding them back like his main outfit that gives compression. they finally get to jiggle freely and they're so soft and squishy. 😍🤤 what's also adorable is the tank top riding up his tummy! actual crop tops would be great on him too but it being a tank top is cutest so there's just an accidental lil peek at his precious fuzzy tum that's so teasing and increases the urge to hug and squish it!!! it provides quick and easy access to kissing and blowing raspberries on it too fbsbgksbknhfjd 🥰💜💘💗💖💕💜

Edd and Flow; Jitters, Junk, Fireflies

Eddward Vincent had never been on a clandestine date before. Or any date for that matter.  He’d gone to Sadie Hawkins with Nazz, but it had been a pleasant outing between two friends. Nazz had met his parents, he’d met Nazz’s, pinned a corsage, danced together under the supervision of chaperones, drank punch that may or may not have been spiked. It had been a quick affair, never repeated and with no misunderstandings or hurt feelings.

     As he decided on what to wear, he thought over the situation in terms of what a date classically is and found that it was beyond typical categorization. If anything, it was a rendezvous. It had all the thrill, danger and intrigue of one at least. And it was hot, but not just hot, humid at that. A romantic rendezvous in a tank-top and shorts? It would be so.

    There was another point of consideration; was that all this would be? A passing… something… in the night? Is that worthwhile? Is that something to look forward to? So many questions, and nothing but a time and place to answer them. As well as an auburn-haired boy. That raised more thoughts, lewd, personal thoughts. He humored them and changed again. Messy, messy, messy.

    By four in the afternoon he’d run out of things to catalogue and alphabetize; every advisory note left by his parents was read and followed; Jim and the ant colony fed and watered; any and every bit of clothes washed, folded. Now he’d resorted to an impromptu one man play in the living room, portraying both himself and a suddenly erudite and proper Kevin, replete with baseball cap. Then, a knock at the door.

    Actually, it was less a knock than it was Eddy strolling in, Ed in tow. “Hey Sockhead why dontcha answer your phone?” He tracked in mud, fresh, blackened mud likely from a runoff canal near the Creek. “Ed and I found a great spot ta set up Slippery Eddy’s Super Summer Splash Park and we need ya ta draw up the plans.”

    “Eddy, shoes, please!” Double-Dee sprung over the couch and dialed a command into his wristwatch, sleeker models of the cleaner bots from the café emerging from the hall closet and setting to work.

    Ed swept Double-Dee in his arms and crushed the air from his lungs in a rib-cracking bear hug. “Eddy told me you’d been taken by the sewer people, to build them a radioactive claw they’d use to steal the Earth’s core!” He mimicked a gnarled claw and snapped at various objects on the end table near the couch, curling his lip and crossing his eyes in his best impression of a sewer person.

    “Ed, we’ve talked about unnecessary roughness in our greetings.” Double-Dee felt the pressure around him relax.

    “Sorry Double-Dee.” Ed seemed on the edge of tears, sincerely remorseful he’d slipped up and possibly disappointed his friend.

    Double-Dee had a special place in his heart, and therefore his patience, for Ed, and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly fine, Ed, just a friendly reminder. Now, if you wouldn’t mind releasing me.” Ed dropped him bodily to the floor and stood smiling.

    Eddy had meanwhile helped himself to one of the pre-made sandwiches Double-Dee had spent the morning preparing for himself and was lounging on the couch, a phone in his hand. “All my missed calls and you didn’t even try to get back to me.” He seemed taken aback by something he saw on the screen and flew into a rage. “Kevin? What, he tryin ta shanghai ya ta help him with his summer school?”

    Double-Dee scrambled over the couch and tried his best to get his phone back, Eddy keeping him at bay with his leg. “My correspondence with other people is my own business, Eddy; so unless you’re listed as the account holder or contribute directly to my service bill, I’d appreciate you returning my property to me and pondering your own social interactions, thank you very…” he kicked off the arm-rest of the couch and managed to spring past Eddy’s leg, grabbing ahold of his phone as he sailed off towards a crash landing, “much!”

    He made a hard landing against the opposite wall, knocking over a waist-high bookshelf. Ed scrambled over and helped unbury Double-Dee, lifting him up to his feet and dusting him off.

    “Are you okay, Double-Dee?”

    “Yes, thank you, Ed… you didn’t take off your shoes?”

    Sure enough, there was a long, thick trail of viscous, blackened mud from the entryway to him, the cleaner bots chugging along frustratedly.

    “Forget his shoes, what’s Shovelchin tryin ta rope ya into, huh, huh?”

    Double-Dee held the phone to his chest and turned his nose up at Eddy, moving off towards the kitchen. “None of your ‘beezewax’ to borrow from your own crude vocabulary.” He glanced at the screen and saw he had indeed received a message from a number identifying itself as Kevin.

Hey Double-Dork, it’s Kev, don’t forget.

    He felt a bolt of lighting shoot up his spine and crash back down in the pit of his stomach, flooding him with warmth and energy, his heart racing. Now how to go about responding. He wanted to send a long-heartfelt message filled with his excitement and anticipation, the concern and worry that had been consuming him ever since their brief intimacy the day prior. Then he thought of how Kevin, up till now the smoothest of operators when it came to romance, would take this outpouring of deep emotions, especially in such an early, fragile state of their… relationship.

    “Hello, Double-Dee, ya have a stroke or somethin?” Eddy had finished his sandwich, wiping his hands on the couch, and was looking at him expectantly.

    “Eddy, how would you respond to someone who had asked you out on a date, wishing to maintain a level of distance and mask your enthusiasm?” He looked to Eddy, who had a crestfallen look on his face.

    “Oh come on, not Boxhead…”

    “The identity of the individual is irrelevant, but the question stands.”

    “Is Double-Dee in love, Eddy?” Ed again closed the distance between himself and Edd, wrapping him up in a cautious embrace.

    “I wouldn’t call it love, Ed, but someone has piqued my interest, yes.” Double-Dee relished the affection afforded to him by his gregarious friend and returned the hug.

    “What you have to do is beat up their enemy like in Ultra Space Adventure number six-hundred and four, where Tim Cobalt, space explorer, fought for the love of an alien with a thousand mouths by defeating the hairy mutants from X-O-Nine!” Again, sudden silence, pleasant smile.

    “I’ll take it under consideration, Ed.”

    “I say leave him hangin, never text back, move away, save yourself the headache.”

    “Come now, Eddy; could it be your prior antagonistic encounters with Kevin have soured your opinion of him?”

    “Kevin’s a jerk, always will be a jerk, ask Nazz.”

    Double-Dee bit his lip and tapped Ed to release him. He moved into the living room and sat in his father’s recliner, looking off to a spot on the carpet. “I admit, Kevin’s romantic record to this point has been less than stellar. But could it be that that’s a part of adolescence? After all, Kevin and Nazz remain close friends, despite their history.”

    Eddy looked Double-Dee over and shook his head, standing to leave. “Double-Dee ya could marry a hornet’s nest and I’d ask when the reception is…” he picked at his teeth with the nail of his pinky-finger and examined what he’d scraped loose, “but Kevin?” He tutted and walked towards the door. “Just don’t ask me ta be nice ta him.” He paused and said over his shoulder, “Keep it loose, say when and where, then be there, keep him guessing.”

    “Remember Double-Dee; defeating your love’s enemies is the key to the heart.” Sudden silence. Pleasant smile.

    “Ed, your advice, as always, is illuminating.”

    “Wait for me, Eddy!” Ed raced after Eddy and practically bulldozed him out the door, the pair alternatingly laughing and arguing as they made their way back to whatever spot they’d staked out.

     Save for the cleaning machines lethargically scrubbing away at the last of the Ed’s mess, the house was quiet. Double-Dee looked at his screen again and considered a response. Then, another text popped onto the screen.

Don’t flake on me or I’ll pound ya.

    It seemed Kevin was also in the throes of pre-date jitters. He thought on it for a moment, then replied.

Eight o’clock, the park.

    And that was that.

       The Park was one of the oldest in Peach Creek, planned back when the cul de sac and other suburb outcroppings were still just blueprints and promises. It was simple, a few play structures, slides and swings, as well as a sandbox. Ringed by tall, old trees that were always last on the town’s list of landscaping priorities, a canopy had formed in some places, and in others crowded saplings and bushes fought for space. Otherwise, it was a straight shot through the park from one end to the other, wide open views from the street that anyone could take in unobstructed while passing by.

    These observations were obvious to Double-Dee as he sat at the picnic table, glancing at his phone every few seconds. 7:55pm. He’d arrived promptly at 7:30 to allow himself the opportunity to settle in, seem casual, build an alibi should anyone from the neighborhood or beyond happen upon him and subject him to interrogation. He’d imagined a million and one scenarios, his stories becoming more and more fluid as the questioning increased in severity. By 7:45 his resolve had faltered a bit, though he quickly reminded himself that it was Kevin who’d set the time and Kevin who’d sent a reminder, as well as a, hopefully, playful threat.

    The summer sun set late. It would be almost 9 by the time it fully set beyond the western mountains, casting everything into deep, dark night. Now, at 8pm, there was more than enough light to show someone mounted on a restored, candy-red ’92 Honda VT600 Shadow roll up to the curb beyond the park’s entrance.

    The mystery rider cut the engine and sat back in the seat, arms crossed, the tinted, visored helmet clearly looking towards him, “You comin or what?”

    Double-Dee felt both underdressed and intimidated. Whereas he’d resolved to wear cargo shorts and a simple band tee, Kevin was clad in black denim with a weathered, adobe-colored leather jacket. He needed to retain some of the rehearsed blasé attitude he’d constructed.

    “I’d accuse you of showing off but I’m afraid I don’t know enough about motorcycles or the necessary safety gear to offer any real criticism.” Humorous, self-effacing, humble.

    “Shut up Dork, put this on.” The careful waltz of clever witticisms was shattered, and Kevin lobbed a small backpack at Double-Dee. Inside was an equally weathered chartreuse leather jacket and an older, Italian motorcycle helmet.

    “First of all, Mr. Barr, don’t speak to me in that way.” Double-Dee let the bag drop to his feet and crossed his arms. “I’ll admit I’m positively disposed towards you but this disposition does not mean I’ll forgive disrespect.”

    Kevin kept his helmet visor down, a black-eyed cyclops that stared him down wordlessly. He triggered the kickstand switch and let the bike settle at a cant, dismounting and walking straight up to the other boy. He stood a full head taller, and he still didn’t raise the visor.

    “Well?” Gasoline fumes mingled with the aseptic bite of a cologne that had given up the ghost long ago. The closeness of the two as well as Kevin’s facelessness revived the sense of enticing danger Double-Dee had dismissed as romantic fantasy.

    Kevin flipped up the visor and was smiling. “You’re cute when ya want to act all tough, Mr. Vincent.” He scooped the bag up and handed it daintily to Double-Dee. “Pretty please, with sugar on top, put this on.”

    “Very well, but only because you asked so nicely.”

    Soon, they were off, riding for about an hour to the west, halfway between Peach Creek and Lemon Brook. Suburbs gave way to orchards, the new moon providing more than enough light to navigate the many backroads Kevin detoured. Here and there you’d spot farmhouses; lonely old things that looked abandoned, only the motion-activated security lights close to the road reminding you that people lived there.

    Even with earplugs, the sound of the bike’s engine was monstrously loud, the vibration of the road rattling Double-Dee numb. He’d kept his eyes clamped shut for much of the ride, but as Kevin slowed to take the winding roads to their unknown destination, he’d allowed himself to peek out into the night, take in the sights. In the milky-white brilliance of the new moon, details were discernable; old collapsed fence posts with depression-era barbed wire; an actual honest-to-god phone booth at a crossroads that still had a functioning light on the inside; an abandoned tractor that had been consumed by wild grass and weeds, a thicket forming around it; acres upon acres of anything and everything that grew on trees.

    Though named for the citrus fruit, no lemons grew in or around Lemon Brook. The main employer of the community, Staple and Citrus Cargo Company, named the town after the first product they’d shipped in upon opening in 1890: Lemons for the Navy from California. Rail-lines, weigh stations, turntables, fuel and water depots cross-hatched and dotted the county. This area surrounding the town was known as the badlands, beginning and ending at an old district boundary no one bothered to review.

    They finally came to a halt at the beginning of a gravel road that disappeared through a cluster of beech trees. Kevin killed the engine and sat for a moment, then turned his helmeted head.

    “Hey, uh, you can let go now.”

    Double-Dee did so, the blood rushing back into his arms, hands, fingers. “My apologies, Kevin, I’m not used to this mode of travel.”

    “It’s fine, Nazz hated riding this thing too.”

    Double-Dee dismounted shakily, his legs waking up. “I’m glad to know how other people you’ve dated enjoyed the experience.”

    “Come on, Double-Dee, I didn’t me-” Kevin saw that the other boy was politely stifling a laugh. “Good one, you really made me feel like a jerk.”

    “I can’t make you feel what you already suspect.” Eddward allowed himself the laugh and removed the helmet, his beanie pressed flat underneath.

    “I’ve never seen someone get helmet HAT before.” Kevin dismounted as well and walked the bike off the side of the road into a stand of already dying paper birches. Double-Dee was waiting for him as he reemerged, and Kevin thought on how ridiculous he looked in the oversized jacket, shorts, and chipped-white helmet, old-school driving goggles sitting crookedly across the brow. “You look like you shop at the Salvation Army.”

    Double-Dee considered what he was wearing and shrugged, “Half of this outfit was provided by you, so I’d say it reveals more about your own stylistic choices than mine.”

    “Fair enough, come on, we’re almost there.”

    They set off along the gravel road and entered the stand of beeches, Double-Dee taking note of the many bottles and cans strewn about the ground.

    “I take it this is a popular place for revelry, shame they’re so inconsiderate of the local flora.”

    Kevin stooped and came back up with one of the cans in hand. It was so faded, half-covered in a slimy, mossy sludge that he couldn’t make out any kind of date or design. He let it fall back among its brothers and wiped off the sludge on a tree as he walked by. “Used to be, all the upperclassmen would come here.”

    “We’re the upperclassmen now.”

    Kevin chuckled, “Yeah, we’re in the big leagues.”

    They exited the stand of trees and stood at the edge of a field of tall grass about two acres long by two acres wide. Rising out of the grass here and there were old hulks of various vehicles. They were rusted husks without engines, without seats, skeletons of skeletons. In the center of the field there rose a jagged mound of earth and steel. Bicycles, shopping carts, weathervanes, melted and crushed together into a chaotic mass half-buried by an abortive burial attempt. The earth that had been heaped upon it had, over time, solidified and compacted, and now was topped by thin, white, fluted flowers.

    What gave this mound shape was the most surprising specimen of all; beneath the wreckage and dirt sat an old tank, its turret turned slightly to the right, main gun held aloft by a sturdy-looking support brace bolted to the chassis.

    Kevin took Double-Dee’s hand and squeezed it. “Welcome to the ThunderDome.”

   Double-Dee giggled and took the lead, pulling Kevin along as he walked towards the mound. “I’d be interested to see what species of flower that is, as well as the model of the …”

    They’d only taken a few steps in when the fireflies, as though they had fallen asleep on the job, rose and began their display. The two teens were surrounded by a flurry of light, a chain reaction rippling outward across the field, legions upon legions of the luminescent insects taking flight. The new moon was obscured by a blanket of clouds that threatened rain and thunder, the night deepening across the land. The fireflies were transformed from points of light to living stars, meteors caught in the atmosphere of this private universe, celestial bodies that collided and danced all around them.

    “It’s beautiful, it’s like experiencing the moment after the Big Bang!”

    Kevin looked at Double-Dee and was struck by the awe, the wonder in his eyes. As those wide orbs of glacial blue diamonds took in the beauty of the moment, reflections of fireflies that passed close by blinked in and out of existence like sparks from a flint. For a moment Kevin was party to Double-Dee’s immense knowledge, imagination, and understanding, and in that moment he felt afraid. He was one of the most intelligent people Kevin had ever met, an inscrutable mind of unknowable potential. What could he offer him? What could he give to him that he couldn’t create himself, better, at ten times the scale with ten times the power?

    Double-Dee moved in close and laid his head on Kevin’s chest. “I could live in this moment for the rest of my life.”

    At a loss for a response, but feeling victorious, he held him close and said nothing.

READ THE FULL STORY IN SEQUENCE HERE

I want to grow out my leg and arm pit hair, but um worried that people will judge me for not shaving. I'm a closeted trans dude

Lee says:

If people judge you internally but leave you alone about it, then you can decide if you want to just wear pants and t-shirts and hide it, or stand up to them, or just ignore them all together- they aren’t preventing you from doing what you want to do because them thinking whatever they’re thinking doesn’t necessarily have to affect your life or your behavior in any way.

I’ve found that most strangers don’t make comments on me not shaving my legs or arms, but I did overhear someone comment on it once in the high school girl’s locker room and my mom had a few questions.

Honestly, I just wore pants all summer when I stopped shaving my legs and t-shirts instead of tank-tops until I was confident enough to not care what random people thought, which was helped by most of my friends being supportive of me. So it’s possible to stop shaving before you’re ready for people to see that you’ve stopped shaving, and that way you do have the validating leg and armpit hair but you don’t necessarily have to be public about it until you want to be. There’s nothing wrong with taking the path of least resistance- you don’t have to always Make A Big Stand and educate everyone if you don’t feel like you’re ready for that or up for it. But if you want to, this can be a good opportunity to explain why it’s okay to present yourself in the way that you’re the most comfortable presenting yourself.

If you make it into a feminist thing then that might throw them off from the trans thing if you’re not able to safely come out yet, so you could try telling anyone who comments to screw it because nobody should have to shave their natural body hair to fit societal gender norms. Women didn’t used to shave and it’s natural to not shave and let your body be as it is instead of conforming to gender norms that were created to sell you stuff. If you go for the the feminist angle, emphasize that you can do whatever you want with your body hair and it’s a double-standard that women shave shave their legs and men don’t have to. Those are both true true statements to say no matter what your own gender is, so that’s one way to explain it since you’re still closeted.

For issues with peers bullying at school:

Show your administrator an open letter to schools about addressing anti-lgbt bullying if they won’t respond when you tell them you’ve been bullied and show them another one too

Your state’s laws and policies on bullying

If you’re worried about being bullied/are being bullied

You have to kind of judge your audience- will they listen if you politely tell them that it’s your choice not to shave and let it go? Or will they keep bothering you until a more aggressive response is needed?

Assertive communication

Assert yourself!

List of interpersonal skills

Interpersonal effectiveness handouts

Interpersonal effectiveness skills

I statements

In general, I’d say it’s likely that most people won’t say anything, and if the rare person does say something you can tell them to fuck off and/or try explaining it from a feminist perspective.

So I’d say go for it- it doesn’t matter if other people are judgmental, that’s their problem and not yours. So if you don’t want to shave your legs or your armpits, then don’t do it! It’s your body and it’s your choice.

Kii says:

Assuming you won’t be put in physical danger from doing so, try to focus on what you want, not what other people might think. If not shaving is going to make you happy, then don’t shave. Some people might stare or think differently of you, but their opinions shouldn’t matter as much as your comfort levels matter.

How to not care what people think

Self esteem

Followers say:

rogueinkglitch said: I literally never shaved my legs, even before knowing I was ftm, and I never had anyone notice or comment, even when playing on an all-girls sports team. In my experience, no one will care, and the people who do and are rude enough to say something aren’t worth your time.

desmordus said: Closeted ftm here! Although I usually wear pants and not shorts, my parents are the only people who have ever said anything negative about me not shaving my legs. Though whether or not other people notice and/or comment might come down to the local community’s culture

numbcult said: just like the blogger above my moms really the only one who gives/gave me trouble about not shaving, i’d just always say they were my legs not hers. everyone else kinda got shocked at first sight that i was wearing shorter pants and let it go. it can be nerve wracking at first especially if you’re not “out” but once you realize no one cares you’re a lot more comfortable

lilulak said: Keeping em hairy and wearing light loose pants and rolling up the bottoms is a good transition in my experience. People get used to seeing your hairiness and you get used to owning it/ it doesn’t risk being too overwhelming as much the way shorts do. My experience was that while young adolescents are very concerned about doing puberty/ adulthood “right”, people older than that really don’t care, or they think you’re a cool feminist smashing gender norms if they read you as a woman.

lycanthro-queer said: I honestly tell them to go fuck themselves. When i stopped shaving, i got a lot of shit at my work (a clothing retailer) from my boss and i had to explain that her control over my body ends as soon as i clock out and same with family. Im the only one who is with me always and I wear what I want with my unshaved legs. I stopped so i could transition, but as op says it can be a feminist thing, or even pass it off as too much effort when you could be doing x y z instead. If you’re self conscious, something i did was i spent a lot of time looking at hair and body positive tags on social media

zarathot said: if it’s any consolation to anon, i haven’t shaved since i was like 13-14 and i am extremely hairy even though i’m pre-T. hardly anyone will say anything to you. the most i’ve gotten in public are 2 second glances and i live in texas of all places. i’m not sure about the area you live in, but people surprisingly just do not care and they’ve generally got more to worry about than some hairy kid’s legs.

homofamiliaris said: another thing you can tell people who give you trouble about it is like…. it’s Cheaper to not shave. you/your parents don’t have to spend money on razors that way. also (depending on if it’s true or not, or if u feel like u can successfully lie to the person) you can say that shaving or other hair removal methods hurt your skin / u have sensitive skin or whatever.

You ever have a match that you considered your dream match?

Not exactly an answer to your question but one match I am really gunning for is with 2 dudes I see every other day at the gym, it’s a father and son who work out together.

The son is probably 19 or 20, the father is on the younger side, probably late 30s or early 40s, so he banged up his wife pretty young LOL The father has cropped hair, bit balding on top, good shape, not perfect shape but good, nice arms, couple of small tats. I can easily take him. The song is better built, taller than his dad, sleeve of tats, wears tank tops but not fitted, he’s got hairy pits, hairy chest peaking out through the tank, really hairy legs. The son always has knee high socks and sneakers, his dad always in sweat pants or sweat shorts, ankle sox and sneakers. They’re always working out together, you can tell the son loves his dad, looks up to him, really admire him, the dad really loves his son, always encouraging him, lots of high 5s, smacks on the shoulder and back, lots of bro and dude talk, usually heavy grunting when they get really heavy.

So in my idea match up I take on the son for real, he looks like a more closer match to me but I can probably win over him. Then I would imagine him tagging in his father and although I know for sure I can win over the father, I would let him win, I want the son to be proud of his dad, to look at him as a hero. So I let the dad lay me out, who then tags his son back in to get the final pin on me.

Later when the son goes to shower, I pull the dad aside and explain that I threw the match, the dad knows I did, he’s appreciative, but I tell him when his son comes back out of the shower I will manhandle and beat you both down, unless the dad sucks me off before his son’s shower is done. Of course the father loves his alpha status with the son, his hero status, he wants to keep it so he gives me a bj to keep up the front!!!!

Countdown To Midnight- Chapter One

A project I’m 8 chapters deep into. I’ll probably release them weekly... or something. Takes heavy inspirations from Danganronpa, with my own flair of shoehorning homosexual relationships in because I think they’re cuter than straight ones.

The room smelled of smoke as I walked in, and it immediately clued me in to who exactly had been the one to break the lock on my door, and who the silhouette I saw sitting in my chair was through the window. He never had the courtesy of opening the window. He didn't look up from the newspaper he was reading as I closed the office door behind me, and in fact would have most likely continued to ignore me had I not cleared my throat.

The short, hairy man looked up at me, his face almost as disgusting as the smell I would now have to leave my window open to get out of the room. 

"Late night?" He said in a tone of voice that expected a response of profanity, so of course, I obliged.

"Fuck off, Alan." Alan looked at me, feigning hurt. At least, that's how I saw it. While it was possible he could have actually been hurt, I somehow doubted he had the ability to comprehend emotions. He stubbed out the cigarette in a little portable ashtray, which I would have considered a pointless trinket had it not been one of the few things keeping the dirty office from getting dirtier. I moved from the office into the kitchenette (which was just a fancy way of saying 'A small room with a refrigerator') and took out a bottle of... well, something. I wasn't exactly a heavy drinker, so I had just bought some weirdly named liquid for an exorbitant price that usually did the trick. Not bothering to get one of the few glasses I had, I dragged a chair to the other side of the desk and crashed into it, my tired legs finally giving up the ghost. I uncapped the bottle and took a swig as Alan smirked, presumably having come up with some stupid thing to say that would only make me more infuriated.

"What, not going to offer me any?" Alan could clearly see the anger in my face as I glared at him, as he quickly backed down from annoying me, both of us knowing what would most likely happen if he didn't. "Hey, joking. Guessing the last one didn't go so well then?" He said, his voice changing to what, when talking about a normal person, would be considered concern. However, Alan Marcus Everett was not a person. He was a reptile, a cold-blooded predator preying on those whose lives are too shitty for the regular people to take on. Which of course, leaves people like me as his staff. Someone who goes around either beating the living hell out of either drug addicts or drug dealers, and being paid what I could only assume to be blood money from whatever shady enterprises Alan partook in. He was, for want of a better term, the boss. I couldn't possibly know who else was under his thumb, which other poor fools had fallen for the lies that he had once also told me. A better way of life. Bullshit. The 'last one' that he had referred to had been the last job I was sent on, a job to rough up some local newcomers. Apparently, they were cutting in on something Alan was doing. I had no particular interest in knowing what. I just do the job, and take the money. Usually he gives me important information, the keyword there being 'usually'. This time around, however, he had made mistake after mistake.

"So I'm guessing you had a good reason for not telling me that they were strapped." There had once been a time when I had objected to using such cliché terminology. That time had long since passed, and my general apathy that overtook a lot of my life took that as well, leaving me a bitter, uncaring shell. Alan's eyes widened with the information, which told me the exact reason why he had neglected to share such details. Somehow, somewhere, one of his- our- staff had failed, leaving me with nothing to defend myself but my wits, which were ropey at the best of times.

"Are you okay, did they get you?" Alan asked, looking me over. I took another swig from the bottle, grimacing as the strong, disgusting liquid coursed through my body, and unzipped my jacket. The once-white tank top I had been wearing had a slow red stain blossoming over it, the direct centre being a bullet wound that had been the first warning I was given that I was not, in fact, given the upper hand that I had assumed I possessed. "Holy shit." He breathed as I grabbed a small bag from my desk and unzipped it, taking out the tweezers from inside.

"D'you really think I'd be drinking this much if I hadn't been hit?" I asked him as I took more supplies from the bag that I would need for this homemade surgery. "The bullet's still in there, so I need to take it out before I fix the hole it left." I explained to him, as I slowly reached into the hole with the tweezers. I wasn't sure if I was explaining what I was doing for his benefit or my own. I had taken hits before, but I had only ever been shot once. My hands would have been shaking a lot more had I not been drinking beforehand. As it was, my nerves were extremely prevalent as I swore under my breath, catching the side of the wound. I took the tweezers back out, got the alcohol and poured a very slight amount onto the wound. The burning was immediate, and it took a lot of tongue biting and internal swearing so as to not double over and make my situation worse. I wasn't sure what exactly had made me do that, except for having seen it previously on TV shows. I didn't even know if it helped the wound, but it definitely helped me distinguish the open wound from the blood that had been previously leaking from it as if it was its job. Which, come to think of it, I suppose it was. Just like how it was my job to not get shot, and I royally cocked that up. I moved to enter the wound again as Alan responded. 

"Honestly, I can't tell with you, Harvey." He said with his usual brand of insufferable wit. Ignoring his remarks, I reached in, and, very gingerly, removed the remnant of bullet that was embedded in my body. Taking a needle and thread, I begun the next painful process in fixing myself. "I've got something for you, by the way. Something huge." I scoffed, finally realising why he had been concerned. When it came to a job, it wasn't a choice. If he wanted me to do it, I would have to do it unless I was physically incapable. The actual thing he was worried about was that I wouldn't be able to help him out for the next thing. However, he had never said anything had been huge before (aside from his drunken bragging, but I never believed him there anyway), so while I showed my disdain, I was secretly interested to see where exactly he was going. Finishing up sewing my wound shut, I sellotaped a cotton pad over the hole, put my top back down and zipped my jacket back up, and began drinking again, which Alan took as his cue to continue. "There's a hotel. The Ruxford. Pretty swanky place. Named after Irene and Michael Ruxford, two entrepreneurs who apparently decided that a hotel was the next best course of action to spend their money on. Personally I'd spend the money on-" Alan trailed off mid-sentence as he caught me looking at him, annoyed. "Anyway, there's going to be a parcel drop off there. One of my... couriers, shall we say, is going to drop off something important of mine. Obviously, you can't just walk in there and pick it up, however. You need to leave with no suspicion whatsoever. Luckily, I have a plan."

"I await this Scooby-Doo caper with baited breath." I said, before Alan slid an envelope over the table. He looked down at it, then up at me expectantly, so I begrudgingly picked it up and opened it. Turning it upside down, the contents fell onto the desk, and I gasped slightly as crisp, fresh notes fell out. "What... the fuck." I said plainly, less as a question and more as a statement of my sheer amazement.

"Five grand. Three for the reservation, two for the advance pay. Ten when you bring me the package." Alan said, smirking at my clear shock. The pay was absurd! It’s never been that high before! Wait... it has never been that high before. I looked at him sceptically.

"What's the catch?" I said, awaiting some sort of response that would discourage me. Instead, the one I got surprised me.

"There is no catch. Or at least, there shouldn't be. At most, assuming you're in and out, all you have to worry about is keeping a low profile. The security system has blast shielding." I must have had an obvious double-take at that information. "Yeah, I'm not sure why either. It must be a pretty big target though. If you get caught doing anything suspicious, the building will lock down."

"I don't understand, how exactly am I getting the parcel?" I asked, suspicious of how simple this was seeming to shape up. There had to be a catch, right? There was no way in hell that something as easy as this could happen. For god's sake, it was literally a paid vacation. Alan smirked again, another reminder of how his face really didn't present much pleasure to look at. 

"Room 413. That's your room. It's also the room that the parcel will be left in by the previous person living in the room. A few pockets lined here and there, a few eyes looking the other way, and no one will enter the room after him but you. Honestly, there's no way this could go wrong." This was usually the line that was given before things went wrong, so I didn't exactly get my hopes up for a smooth trip. However, for all intents and purposes, it was watertight. I go into the room, put the parcel in my suitcase, and walk out with it, no one suspecting anything. So why did I still have a pit in my stomach? It wasn't as if I couldn't blend in. I wasn't the type of person to get looks on the street when I ventured outside, and the shitty place I lived in was only by choice. I could easily pose as one of the ritzy divas that would reside there. "Any questions, Harvey?" Alan asked. I thought about anything I might have needed to know. But only one question came to mind. One I had been asking for a while.

"Why the hell do you keep calling me by my last name?" I said, smirking as his surprise at my question became evident on his face. It wasn't exactly uncommon for him to address people by last name only. The few times I'd heard him speaking to someone else, he had always addressed them by their last name. 

"I don't know, Rose." Alan said, emphasising my first name when he said it, so as not to seem as if he didn't know it. "Maybe it's just because I'm more professional, and last names are just who we are anyway. After all, our last name is our heritage. Our first name's just a way of telling them apart." He spouted his usual brand of bullshit, and I took another swig, feeling my head grow lighter. In and out. It shouldn't be difficult at all. That's just what I'd have to keep telling myself. I knew something was going to go wrong. This line of work usually did. But, unlike what I had said previously, a few questions were running through my mind, ones I dared not ask, either for fear of knowing too much or knowing that I would most likely be lied to either way. What was this package that couldn't just be directly delivered to Alan? What was the significance of this particular hotel? Why couldn't it be another one? I mean after all, it'd be a lot more expensive to bribe these particular staff, wouldn't it? And the biggest question of all, the one that motivated me to find out more about the entire situation: why was the pay so damn high? Alan’s wallet was tighter than a duck’s asshole, so for him to shell out this much… I couldn’t focus. Maybe the blood loss combined with alcohol had taken its toll. I felt myself grow weary, and before I could really register what I was doing, I had fallen asleep, the last thing I remembered being Alan leaving.

When I woke up the next morning, I could barely remember the events of the previous night. My head ached from where it had been resting on my desk, and I could feel the red mark of where I'd been sleeping on a pencil that I had been writing with. I looked at the notepad in front of me, and saw the questions I had been asking previously. The night's memories returned to me as the questions flooded back, and I checked my desk to make sure what I had experienced wasn’t a dream. Sure enough, an envelope was there, reminding me of two things. One, I was incredibly hungry. Two, I had a job to do. And I could sort both of them out at the same time. But first, I’d need to think. I considered eating something, but I decided against it. I work better under pressure. Or, under hunger. There were three questions on the paper in front of me.

 1.      Why is the pay $12,000 for one job?

2.      What sort of package needs to have numerous couriers?

3.      Why did it have to be the Ruxford?

I had no idea what the answers were. In fact, I don’t even know why I had chosen to write them down, considering that the only way I’d really find out the answers would be to do the job in the first place. Well, except for one. I slid open a drawer on my desk and took out the small laptop that was inside. When it had loaded up, I decided to look into the background of the Ruxford hotel. It wasn’t much I didn’t already know. Irene and Michael Ruxford, two of the richest people around, who decided that they wanted to create a hotel for people like themselves. Something that did catch my eye, however, was that they hadn’t made any public appearances in about 8 months. Which, conveniently, was when they announced their son had come home from some overseas tour of some sort. Jordan Ruxford, the son in question, had taken over for everything they had been working on. Another notable thing was that there were no pictures of him at all. With most people, there’s usually one or two of them, but this guy had kept himself out of the public eye with an enviable amount of skill. It was kinda… strange. As soon as he had taken over, there were suddenly a lot more new security guards working at the hotel. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that this didn’t pertain to what I was doing at all, I’d have investigated the matter more thoroughly. Well, if it paid well. Personally I couldn’t care less about whatever crooked scheme was going on there. It didn’t involve me, and it was highly unlikely it ever would. Either way, it wasn’t going to stop me. Not much would for 12 thousand. And that’s how I found myself throwing together a suitcase of supplies. It was mostly just clothes and the alcohol I liked, which was barely passable as alcohol, more as sweetened water with about a shot’s worth of alcohol put into it, then removed because even that was too much. But hey, it tasted good. Not that it mattered, I wasn’t exactly going through customs. The Ruxford was about an hour away from my small apartment, though I was going to take a little extra time to make sure I looked like I was coming from the airport. The last thing I would want would be to be seen coming from somewhere else, considering that was what my lie was based around. Or, what it was going to be based around. As I packed the suitcase, I began coming up with my background in my head. My name was Rose Harvey (this bit didn’t take too much time to plan out), a 26 year old whose parents have paid for her to take a trip to the illustrious Ruxford Hotel, though she wouldn’t appreciate it since she’s been to a plethora of places around the globe. I paused, thinking. Would there be a situation I would get into where I’d have to show pictures of myself in those places? I’d have to watch out and make sure I didn’t say anything that I wouldn’t be able to get out of. The last thing I’d want would be to dig myself into a hole. Then again, I could just pretend that I was lying because that’s who I was. Which honestly wasn’t too far from the truth. I reassured myself to stay calm, that I was overthinking things, and that I wouldn’t need to worry at all. So that was the chain of events that led me to a taxi at 5AM to an airport, then a second taxi to the biggest hotel around, the Ruxford. And it wasn’t just the biggest in terms of popularity. There was only six floors, but about 30 rooms on each floor, every one of them being the same high quality template, equipped with a flat-screen TV and a mini-bar (okay, maybe I had researched a little bit more than just the history of the hotel, but in my defence, it was the biggest hotel around. I got a little excited) stocked with various expensive liquors, which I planned to partake in with a little bit of the money from having taken the job in the first place. On the drive over, I also had the chance to check my phone for more details, where I discovered that it also had a pool inside, complete with sun lamps and beach chairs in an attempt to accurately simulate the outside. As well as this, there was also a bar there too. I was seriously beginning to consider drinking more frequently, if only to accept all these opportunities that were arising to drink. Calm down, we’re here for a week. You’ll have plenty of time to drink without having to become like Uncle Brandon, My brain said, reminding me of the family members I had tried so hard to distance myself from. Looking up, I noticed I had arrived. The hotel’s white walls were straight ahead of me. I paid the driver, which included quite a generous tip (partially because I was nice and partially because I wasn’t going to wait for the change from a 50) and stepped out, having my bag taken out by the driver, who I waved off as he drove away. Now all I had to do was pose as a normal person, walk into possibly one of the richest and most protected hotels, and retrieve a package of god-knows-what from my hotel room, all while attempting to enjoy myself as much as I possibly could. What could go wrong?