Youthful Indescretions

[RingO'Fire]

THE KIDNAPPING STORY

For all of you guys following my "The Time I Kidnapped My Brother" story, don't fret, I will finish it.

I just have to take care of some "unfinished business" with that rotten bastard calsur first.

Here's the next chapter of the "Back Story" to the contract.

[RingO'Fire]

THE ICY HOT “CONTRACT” - THE BACK STORY - PART II

So, I left Kim in Las Vegas in 1984, thinking that I’d probably never see her again. Little did I realize the bizarre circumstances that would surround the crossing of our paths some 20 years later. Of course, I also didn’t realize that she had been nursing an insanely obsessive grudge for twenty years either. Unfortunately, I found out about this obsessive grudge of hers the hard way this past Saturday, but I’ll get to that part of the story soon enough.

Three years after our whirlwind romance, I ended up moving back to Las Vegas to attend graduate school in 1987. The University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV) had let me into their Master’s degree program in Geoscience and had offered me an assistantship; UNLV was the only one of the five graduate schools to which I had applied to make such an offer. Once I moved out and got set up in an apartment in Vegas, I tried several different ways to contact Kim, but it was all to no avail. I found her old apartment building and knocked on the door, but the woman who answered had no idea who Kim was. Neither was there any “Kim T.” listed in the Las Vegas phonebook. It seemed that I was out of luck, so I gave up and didn’t give the subject of Kim and I much thought after that.

Working on my Master’s degree in Geology and living off of my meager research assistantship didn’t leave me very much free time or very much “disposable income.” In fact, for my first six months in Las Vegas, I didn’t believe that any form of income could ever be considered “disposable.” That all changed in the span of about a month in the winter of ’88.

Although I didn’t have much money, I still needed to work out and try to stay in shape while I was in school. So cruised on over to my local Family Fitness Center, bit the bullet and scraped together the joining fee, and then started going to the gym to work out three or four days a week. One of my favorite parts of exercising at the Family Fitness Center was being finished with the workout and then taking a post-workout steam in the men’s steam room, which was connected to the locker room by way of the showers. It was there in the men’s steam room at the “Family” Fitness Center where I first met the man you all know here on the eplaya as “calsur.”

One day I was sitting in the steam room with my towel wrapped around me, enjoying a relaxing steam. On this particular day, there were a couple of other guys sitting there in the steam room. One of them, a rather slight fellow with brown eyes, mousy brown hair, and a pencil-thin mustache introduced himself as “Calvin.” Calvin proceeded to “chat me up” and asked me where I was from, what I was doing in Vegas, etc. He seemed like a friendly enough guy, so we made small talk for a few minutes before I reached the point where I felt like I was wilting. I had to get out of the steam room and stood up. As I stood, my towel fell off and landed at my feet. I saw Calvin glance down in the direction of my “package” and I thought I saw his eyes pop open a little bit wider, as if he’d seen something shocking.

At the risk of being immodest, I must tell you, I’ve often seen that startled “deer in the headlights” reaction from women when they first behold the gargantuan scale of my manhood in all its throbbing tumescence. In locker room showers, I’ve often caught glimpses of jealousy in the eyes of “meat gazing” men suddenly confronted with their own comparative inadequacy.

So, I really didn’t give Calvin’s shocked expression a second thought that day my towel fell off, unwrapping my “package” there in the steam room. I picked up my towel and wrapped it back around me. Calvin told me, “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll run into each other here again.” We shook hands and said goodbye.

About a week later, I was working out at the gym again when I noticed Calvin on the other side of the gym floor. As soon as he recognized me, he came on over and struck up a conversation. Before long, the subject of money, specifically, the typical college student’s lack of money, came up in the conversation. Calvin asked me, “How’d you like to make a little extra money on the side, when you’re not working at your UNLV research job? I know your money’s tight and I think I might know a way that I could help you make a little extra cash. It’s easy work too! All you have to do is come to a party and I’ll pay you!”

I was immediately suspicious, “What?! All I have to do is come to a party? And you’re going to pay me for that? This is a little too good to be true! OK, so what’ the catch?” Calvin replied innocently, “Well, there really isn’t a ‘catch’ per se. All you have to do is get cleaned up, dress up, and escort my friend, Lydia, to the party. It’s really that simple! You see, my friend Lydia is a divorcee in her mid-40’s. She wants to go to a party hosted by some mutual friends, but doesn’t want to be embarrassed in front of the hostess by not bringing a date to the party! You know how catty and competitive these women are! So, Lydia told me that if I could find her an acceptable date to her friend’s party, that she’d give me a ‘finder’s fee.’ I don’t need the money, so I’ll just let you keep it all! Oh! Did I mention that Lydia is loaded and very good looking too!”

I protested, “I don’t know man. I’m 25 and you say this chick is in her mid-40’s? She is a lot older than me. I don’t know about this, Calvin man. Anyway, how much money is she going to pay me to go to some stupid party with her anyway?” Calvin assured me that everything would be fine, “Lydia may be in her mid-40’s, but she is a refined, cultured, beautiful and very generous woman. You’d be the perfect escort for her. You’re young, good looking, college educated, and you can carry on an intelligent conversation. You’d be the perfect escort to accompany her to the party. You could probably expect to clear four or five hundred dollars, easily!”

After I said that I wasn’t sure again, but the five hundred dollars sounded mighty tempting, Calvin calmly assured me, “Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you my number and you think about it. If you decide that you want to make some money, call me by tomorrow night.”

The next day, I thought it over. I really didn’t have anything to loose and I had four or five hundred bucks to gain. So I thought, “Why not? I think I’ll give it a try and see what happens.” I called Calvin and he gave me directions to Lydia’s house, told me to wear a “good” suit and tie, and told me when to be there. He said that he would call Lydia to tell her that I would be coming and that she would be expecting me at the appointed time and place.

When I arrived at Lydia’s house, I could hardly believe the size of the place. I rung the door and an attractive, thin, svelte woman in high heels dripping with gold and jewelry opened the door. She had straightish shoulder-length medium brown hair with bond highlights, big brown eyes, and bright red lipstick and nail polish. She only had a few hints of crows’ feet around the edges of her eyes. I immediately noticed her well-muscled calves. “This woman works out!” I thought to myself.

I was pleasantly surprised by her appearance and introduced myself, “Hi, I’m Steve! I guess I’m your date for this evening.” Lydia introduced herself and offered me a glass of wine, “We have a little bit of time before we have to leave for the party. Please, sit down.” She poured us both a glass of red wine and we sat down on the plush white overstuffed leather couches in her living room. Lydia told me a few vague details about her life and the kind of party we were going to. She told me how to behave toward our host and hostess at the party also. This woman was obviously used to getting what she wanted. She had made up a story to explain to her friends how we’d met, which she then relayed to me and asked me to recite back to her, just to make sure I’d “gotten” it.

I recited "our story" back to her. “OK, if anyone asks, we met in yoga class at UNLV. I thought you were attractive, at least that part won’t be a lie, and asked you out on a coffee date. We hit it off famously and have been ‘seeing’ each other for about three weeks now. Is that good enough?” She said that she was very proud of me and leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Come on, it’s time to go” She said, “We’ll take my car. You drive!”

Once at the party I did my best to be charming, witty, and entertaining to Lydia’s friends. The partygoers reeked of money, whether is was “old money” or “new money” I couldn’t tell, but the aura of wealth and influence was tangible in the luxurious appointments, clothing, jewelry, cars parked outside. These people obviously were extremely well off. I wasn’t really used to partying with rich people, but I did my best to smile, laugh at the rich guy’s jokes, and pretend like I came to these sorts of cocktail parties all the time. Lydia’s rich girlfriends congratulated her on her “fine young catch” namely, me!

After what seemed an insufferably long time, the guests began thanking our hostess and filing out the door. Lydia and I graciously thanked our hostess and made our exit.

Once Lydia and I arrived back at her mini-palace, she invited me in for a “nightcap.” We walked in, and Lydia told me to fix us both a drink and then sit down and make myself at home. She said she had to slip into something “more comfortable.” I made us both a vodka martini and sat down on the couch to wait. A few minutes later, Lydia came out of her bedroom wearing a silk kimono, but without all of the makeup and jewelry that she’d had on all night. As she sat down right next to me on the couch, we turned toward each other and began to talk. After discussing our (mostly mine) dreams for our lives and enjoying several more martinis, Lydia leaned in and kissed me. We were both fairly buzzed at that point, so I didn’t object, but instead leaned in and kissed her back. After making out on her couch for a few minutes, she grabbed my hand and gently guided through the front of her kimono to her eager breast. I felt the old familiar “stirring” in my boxers as the sleeping one-eyed giant awoke and came to life.

Lydia reached down and unbuckled my belt, as she said, “Let’s see what you’re packing in there! Calvin already told me all about you and your “one-eyed monster.”

Well, after that, one thing led to another, and we ended up making passionate love in her bedroom for hours. I had never been with an “older” woman before, and was really quite shocked at her enthusiasm and “expertise.”

Afterwards, she said coyly, “Umm, that was delicious! I’ll have to tell Calvin to send you to me again some time! I wonder if it would be too selfish of me to keep you all to myself or if I should be generous and share you with my girlfriends? I’ll have to think about that one. OK, you can get your things and go now. I’ve already paid Calvin; you can get your money from him! Thank you for a wonderful night darling, now goodnight!” Apparently, I was being "dismissed" like some kind of servant. I wasn't sure if I liked that or not.

I was confused, I thought “Huh? What do mean you might ‘share me?’ What?! You’re gonna have Calvin ‘send me’ to you? What’d you mean, ‘you already paid Calvin’? What the fuck is going on?”

I called Calvin early the next morning, and told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted to meet him at BagelsN’More “ASAP” to discuss the previous night’s events and to get the money that Lydia had “already paid him.” As soon as we met, Calvin fished an envelope out of his pocket and handed in to me. I opened it and peeked inside and saw five Benjamin Franklins peeking back out of the envelope at me. Over coffee, eggs and bagels, Calvin starting asking me questions.

“Did you have fun last night?” I told him that, yes, although the party wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, that I did have “fun” with Lydia. “Wasn’t that an easy way to pocket five hundred dollars?” I said, “Yes, I suppose.” Then he asked me, “If you could make that kind of money every night, would you be interested?” “Perhaps” I replied, “That depends on what I have to do to get it.”

Calvin laid it all out for me. “All you have to do is exactly what you did last night! It’s that simple! You would get paid to escort lonely ladies to parties, gallery openings, sporting events, or whatever; and then if you feel like it, make love to them with your ‘one-eyed monster.’”

My internal red flags immediately flew up, “Wait a minute! What do you mean ‘if I feel like it’? What if my “date” is ugly?! Would I still have to sleep with her? Isn’t she going to be mad if I don’t?!”

Calvin said, “Look, nobody’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to. But these aren’t just any “girls” we’re talking about here. These ladies may be lonely, but they are also very discrete, very wealthy and very very generous! So what do you say? Are you “in” with me? Do you want to make more money than you’ve ever made before in your life? C’mon, what do you say?”

My greed and lust for all that “easy” money muddled my thinking. That’s when I made a deal with the devil. “OK, I’ll give it a try!”

Calvin congratulated me on my “wise” decision. “That’s the spirit! I’ll tell you what, Steve, you and I are going to make mad money together!”

In hindsight, that was the moment when I was officially “turned out” as a man-whore by my pimp, Calvin "calsur" Bryant.


Next…..The Seedy, Depraved Underworld of Calvin ”calsur” Bryant, the Man-Ho Pimp!

Stay tuned.

[Treehugr11]

She walks off the veranda back inside, determination and vengence flaming anew in her heart. Making
way to the bar, she mixes a dirty Martini and thinks for a moment...
Opening a drawer she clasps an address book, flipping quickly she finds the letter 'T'.
Finding the number she needs, she dials. A woman answers, "FBI Washington, how may I
direct you?" "Special Agent Hunter Trace's office please". The woman pauses, "He's in the
field ma'am, may I take a message?" "Yes, thankyou, please tell him to expect a letter of importance
from his sister". "Will do ma'am". She quietly hangs up the phone. Her appetite for a vendetta has
been assuaged for the moment....The letter starts...."My dearest brother....

[RingO'Fire]

THE ICY HOT CONTRACT - THE BACK STORY - PART III

So, in the winter of 1988 I was “turned out” as a high-class man-whore by my new pimp, Calvin “calsur” Bryant. In the beginning, I was nervous around my “clients” or “tricks”, but the job got easier and easier over time. My clients were lonely or just plain horny rich women who were divorced, widowed, or sometimes married, but just not satisfied with the lovin’ they were getting from their husbands. Sometimes they were attractive, powerful women who were in Vegas or business, or more typically, for pleasure.

Other times they were, well, let’s just say, a little less than attractive or perhaps just a bit past the “prime of life.” No matter, regardless of their appearance, I made each one feel like a queen, like there was no one else in the world that mattered to me except them. Sometimes they wanted to know about my life and get to know me a little, others couldn’t care less about me as a person and wanted to make sure that I “knew my place.” However they treated me, I kept my cool and never let on that it bothered me, I was there for one reason - the cash!

I led a double life, graduate student by day, man-whore by night. Of course, I couldn’t “work” every night; I did have to study sometimes. Of course, my studies suffered, but I was just making too much money to stop. I wasn’t the only one making money though. Calvin “calsur” the pimp was stuffing his bank account with the cash I was earning from “stuffing” all those wealthy women too.

One day, after I had been working for him for about six months, “calsur” made me an offer, an offer to make even more money. “Steve, how would you like to make some REAL MONEY, instead of this piddly-ass pittance that you’re pulling in right now?” I was intrigued, but knowing how slippery and deceptive this guy was, I was also a little apprehensive. Plus, I thought I was already making REAL MONEY, but if “calsur” considered this to be a pittance, then I definitely wanted to know what he considered to be “real money.” “All right” I answered, “I’ll bite. How do you propose that I start making all this alleged “real money?”

Calvin answered “Well Steve, let me begin by asking you a question. You’ve no doubt heard of people with a sexual preference for bondage, discipline, and sadomasochism, or ‘BD/SM’, no?” I said that of course I had heard of BD/SM. He went on, “Well, have you ever tried it?”

Immediately my red flags flew up, “What?! Now you want me to be some kind of sex slave or something?! Fuck that! Playing ‘hide the weenie’ with rich ladies is one thing, but being some kind of tied-up slave and gettin’ my ass whipped by some bull dyke with a bull whip is something completely different! Uh uh! No way!” Calvin tried to reassure me, “Now Steve, calm down. Have I ever asked you to do anything you didn’t want to?” I answered, “Well, yes! As a matter of fact, you have! What about that one whacko lady with the bad breath and the bad hair who wanted me to piss on her?!”

Calvin was unfazed, “Still, I didn’t MAKE you do anything, did I? You still went on your ‘date’ with her because you wanted to, right?” I couldn’t help but admit that, yes, I had in fact had sex with all the “questionable” clients that Calvin had sent me partly because I considered myself to be a “professional”, but mainly, I had done it for the money.

He continued, “Now just hear me out before you make up your mind. Listen, I run several private ‘clubs’ that, up till now, I haven’t told you anything about. My private ‘clubs’ are in fact underground BD/SM ‘playgrounds’ for those who want to come ‘play.’ My clubs are clean and well-appointed, and well-stocked with every manner of BD/SM equipment, gear and toys that you can imagine, including many that you would never have imagined. These clubs are not some seedy basements with a sex swing, a couple of whips and a mattress in the corner. No! We have the finest stocks, cages, swings, shackles, whipping posts, whips, riding crops, leather and latex bondage suits, gags, collars, and on and on and on that money can buy.”

I was incredulous. “What?! You have private underground bondage clubs where people come pay lots of money to get their asses whipped and to be told that they’re ‘dirty nasty boys – ooh, lick my boots, you dirty nasty boy!’ and all that shit?! You’re tellin’ me that I can make more money in one these underground bondage places than I’m making bein’ a gigolo?!”

Calvin assured me that, yes, I could in fact make more money being a “dom” in his underground bondage clubs that I was making being a man-whore. I asked him what kind of people frequented his clubs.

He answered nonchalantly, “Oh all kinds of people really. The most ‘generous’ customers though are the Japanese businessmen and Japanese couples. You see, I have a ‘business partner’ in Japan, an American, we’ll just refer to him as ‘Mr. Zephyrus’, who organizes sex tours to destinations all over the globe for the Japanese. He like ‘windy’ aliases like ‘Mr. Zephyrus’, because like the wind, he’s may be here today and gone tomorrow. We used to call him ‘Mr. Scirocco’ and then he became ‘Mr. Santa Ana.’ For now though, we call him ‘Mr. Zephyrus.’ Anyway, the customers he sends us are usually horny Japanese businessmen, but we also get the occasional couple. They are generally our best customers.”

I objected, “Wait a minute! What do you mean ‘we’ call him ‘Mr. Zephyrus?’ Who’s this ‘we?’ that you keep talking about?” “calsur” laid it all out for me, “Well, here’s how it works. You see, I lead a group of investors; you could refer to it as an investment ‘syndicate’ who formed a partnership to, shall we say, tap into an untapped ‘market.’ My investment partners and I founded our first private BD/SM club approximately eight years ago. We quickly found that our facilities were inadequate for the volume of business we were doing. So, naturally, we decided to expand. Today, we have three underground bondage clubs at various locations here in Las Vegas.”

“Wait a minute.” I interrupted “You’re the head of a ‘syndicate’ of investors? Isn’t ‘syndicate’ synonymous with ‘Mafia?’ Am I working for The Mafia?!”

Calvin reassured me, “No no no, we’re member of A syndicate, not THE syndicate. Nevertheless, I must tell you that my partners and I take our business very VERY seriously, and we would do just about anything ‘necessary’ to protect our investment. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I understood the thinly veiled threat perfectly. International sex tours were coming from all over the world to underground bondage clubs in Las Vegas? It just dawned on me, my pimp, “calsur” is the DON OF THE BONDAGE MAFIA!

Next Chapter, How “calsur” worked his way up from being A bondage “dom” to being THE “Don” of the Bondage Mafia!

Stay tuned………

[calsur]

I love this thread.

I am now #1 or #2 pimp/bdsm master in Vegas! depending on how Ring writes it out. And Ring has said I was his pimp!

So Red Chick and Treehugger, can I give you Ring for a weekend to cancel the $20 I owe you for the IcyHot hit? I would suggest you use him for yard work.

Does life get any better than this? I lay out a contract. The IcyHot chicks deal with it. The target Publicly states I am his pimp and I sell his ass back to the assassins as payment for the contract! Life is good.

[Zulegoona]

.............And this is what makes Calsur's purple banana dance.

[RingO'Fire]

I love this thread.

...And Ring has said I was his pimp!

Does life get any better than this? I lay out a contract. The IcyHot chicks deal with it. The target Publicly states I am his pimp and I sell his ass back to the assassins as payment for the contract! Life is good.

Hold on just a minute, motherfucker! I ain't done with you yet! You may have been my pimp at one time, but I ain't finished exposing all of your "dirty little secrets" to the rest of our fellow eplayans.

[RingO'Fire]

THE ICY HOT CONTRACT - THE BACK STORY - PART IV

In the summer of 1988, I discovered that my pimp, Calvin "calsur" Bryant was the "Don" of the Las Vegas Bondage Mafia! After he informed me that he was the head of A syndicate of "investors", "calsur" quickly made me "an offer I couldn’t refuse." At least, after he told me that he and his syndicate partners would "do anything to protect their business interests", I was afraid to refuse his offer.

Calvin offered to promote me to the position of a "dom" or dominant male in one of his BD/SM brothels. My job would be to dominate and humiliate sexually submissive men and women in the bondage brothel. He also promised that if I accepted his offer, he would put me on the brothel "management fast track." In other words, if I agreed to learn the bondage brothel business from the ground up, he would teach me how to manage one of these brothels on my own. Calvin also held out one gigantic carrot in front of my nose; if I learned the business and learned how to manage one of his "clubs", then I might be able to one day buy my way into the "investment syndicate" that he controlled.

Calvin was offering me more money than I could ever even imagine making as a geologist. The only catch was that I would have to play the role of a dominant male in a bondage brothel first, a prospect I considered somewhat repulsive, but slightly intriguing as well. After giving his offer some consideration, and considering that this was a man whom I probably did not want to piss off, I hesitantly agreed. However, I did have one condition upon which I accept his offer, a condition that would have been a "deal killer" for me if Calvin had refused it.

"OK, I’ll take you up on your offer, on one condition though" I stated forcefully. He replied, "All right then, let’s hear it. What is your condition?" I told him, "I won’t have sex with men. I’m sorry but I’m just not wired that way. I’ll whip them, I’ll belittle and humiliate them, I’ll yell and them and spank them and boss them around. I’ll have sex with their wives in front of them. Hell, I’ll even piss on ‘em if they want. However, I won’t have sex with men. I’m sorry, but I’m just wired for D.C. current only, not A.C. and not A.C./D.C. That is my only condition."

Calvin seemed a little annoyed. He quizzed me, "Are you sure about that? Do you know what kind of money you could make if you go ‘both ways?’ You would be a lot more desirable to some of our best customers, and therefore, more valuable to our ‘operation’ if you agreed to ‘service’ men as well as women. So, you’re absolutely sure you won’t change your mind?"

I told him, "Look, I don’t care what kind of sex consenting adults want to have between themselves. I don’t give a shit about that. If a woman wants to pay me to have sex with her, that’s fine; I give my consent, she gives her consent, and then gives me, well, actually she gives you the money, and everything is cool. We both consented to that. Consenting men with consenting men, consenting women with consenting women, whatever, it’s all fine with me. But I’m sorry, I just don’t consent to having sex with men. That’s just not the way I am."

Calvin was still a little annoyed, and said, "OK, fine! Let me tell you a story first though, and perhaps you’ll change your mind. When I was a young lad of about 16 or so growing up in Riverside, California, I thought I knew everything. Nobody could tell me anything; I knew it all. One day, I got tired of my parents ‘pushing me around’ and telling me what to do, so I just decided ‘fine then, I’ll just leave and go live on my own. I don’t need you ‘putting a roof over my head’ and ‘putting food on the table and clothes on my back.’ Being 16 and ‘young, dumb and full of cum’ I decided that everything my parents were doing for me, I could do better on my own. I didn’t need their rules and their bossiness. So, I packed my bags, ran away from home and hitchhiked my way to Las Vegas.

"When I left home, I think I had about eighty bucks in my pocket. I figured that once I got to Vegas, I could make some more money by gambling in casinos. I figured that there were enough casinos in Vegas that wouldn’t bother checking my I.D., and that I could make some money that way. Boy, was I ever wrong.

"After I blew through about seventy of my eighty bucks at the ‘Lady Luck’ and didn’t seem to be getting any richer, I started to get kinda nervous. As you know, Vegas is not a very kind city to ‘travelers in financial distress.’ So, I was walking around old downtown Las Vegas late at night. You know, that part of town where you see all those homeless people all the time? Anyway, so I’m walking down the sidewalk and I walk past this triple-X adult bookstore. I see a guy coming out of the place and he sees me walking around late at night with my backpack on. I’m sure he could tell I was young too.

"The guy calls me over, ‘Hey you! You! Kid! Hey, come here a minute!’ So I walked on over to see what the guy wanted. He said, ‘Hey kid, wanna earn some extra money?’ I told him, ‘Well, that depends; what’ve you got in mind?’ He said, ‘Hey just come over here and sit here in the car with me, and I’ll tell you how you can make some real money.’ Since I was almost completely broke, didn’t have a place to sleep, and was worrying about how I was going to keep on eating, I walked around to the side of this guy’s car there in the porno shop parking lot and got in.

"When I got in his car, I asked him, ‘So, you said you were going to show me how to make some money. Do you know where I can get a job?’ He said, ‘No, but you can give me a ‘job’, a blow-job that is! I’ll give you fifty bucks if you’ll take care of this for me!’ Then he unzipped his pants and whipped out his dick! He said, ‘If you’ll take care of this for me, I’ll give you fifty bucks!’ I considered my options for a few seconds. If I did it, it wouldn’t have been the first time that I’d ever sucked a dick. I’d just never sucked one for money before. Then I told him, ‘Give me the fifty now, and I’ll do it!’ And that was the first time I sucked a dick for money! He was one satisfied customer too, let me tell you! Anyway, I had made enough money for a cheap room at a roach motel, so I didn’t have to sleep on the street."

"calsur" continued with his story, "The next night, I went back to the same place. This time though, I was the one looking for customers, instead of them looking for me. Of course, I found some eager customers. I just kept doing this night after night, ‘settin’ ‘em up and knockin’ ‘em down!’ After a while, I started getting repeat business and referrals from my customers. Finally, I’d found something that I was good at and that I could make some money doing! I was a damn good cocksucker!

"Then of course, some of my customers offered me even more money if I would come to their hotel room and let them ‘have their way’ with me. I was all about making some money, so eventually I agreed to go to the hotel room with one of them. Well, let me tell you from experience honey, the first time you take a big dick up your ass, it hurts!"

I was astonished at "calsur’s" candid admissions, but I listened intently as he went on, "So there I was, 16 years old in seedy old downtown Las Vegas, suckin’ dicks and takin’ it up the ass for a living! I wasn’t content with the clientele of the streets though, too many smelly flabby fat asses and homeless drunks! Let me tell you too, I learned the hard way to always get the money first from guys who look like they even might be homeless! So, I started saving my money and bought several sets of nice clothes. Then I started hanging out in the lobby bars of the nicest casinos in Las Vegas. I’d order a Coke or something and sit there and sip it until I’d see a potential ‘customer’ sit down at the bar. Then, I’d go over and chat them up and try to surreptitiously introduce the subject of ‘sex’ into the conversation. Most of the time, a little while later we’d end up in their room just a strokin’ and a pokin’; I’d be strokin’ and then they’d be pokin’!

"I was making a lot more money giving blowjobs and takin' it up the ass than I was just giving blowjobs alone! I scrimped and saved and put away all the money I could. One day, I was up in the room of this neatly dressed, well-groomed and very generous businessman. After he had ‘finished’, he asked me if I had ever heard of BD/SM. I had no idea what he was talking about, but didn’t want to let on, so I said, ‘Yea, I know all about BD/SM!’ The guy appeared to be completely thrilled, so as he handed me my money, he said, ‘Excellent! Meet me here in my room tomorrow at eight. We’re going to a BD/SM ‘party’ with some friends of mine.’ I told him, ‘OK, that’s fine, but you know this is going to cost you a lot more!’ He didn’t care. He said, ‘OK, fine, whatever. Just be here at eight!"

Calvin "calsur" continued with his astonishing story, "That night after I met him, he took me out to a house somewhere way out in West Las Vegas. There were all kind of men there dressed up in all kinds of bondage gear. When I walked through the door, that was the first time I figured out what ‘BD/SM’ actually meant! Apparently, my ‘trick’ and the host of this ‘party’ had a plan for me; I was to be bound, gagged, locked in a stock, and then be put on the receiving end of a ‘train’ of men who were going to pound my tight little ass! When I bent over and put my head into the stocks, I knew I might be in trouble, but they gave me a ‘safety signal’ that I was to give them if I decided I’d had enough. I made sure they know this was going to cost them a pretty penny! Then, while I was in the stocks, one after the other, they took turns pumping and pounding my ass all night long! Finally, when I thought it was over, they had one more ‘surprise’ in store for me.

Calvin went on, "Then they let me out of the stocks and told me to get down on all fours. The whole gang of men formed a semi-circle behind me as a sat there naked on the floor, like they were getting ready to watch some kind of demonstration or something. Then, the ‘trick’ who had brought me said to the rest of the men standing around, ‘Watch this, fellas!’ Then he squirted about a half a tube of K-Y on my sore little asshole! Then he told me, ‘OK, I’m going to open break this little ampule and then put it under your nose. This stuff is called amyl nitrate. When I do, I want you to take a real good deep sniff and then just relax your anal sphincter as much as you can, OK?’"

"calsur" continued with his story, "I was a little apprehensive, but just tried to think about all the money I was making, so I agreed. Then he broke open the little ampule and put it under my nose. I sucked air in through my nose just as hard as I could. Then, all of a sudden, my head blew up and felt like my scalp was going to fly off and start whizzing around the room! Then, just as suddenly, I felt my asshole stretch open farther than I’d ever felt it stretched before! The dude behind me, the guy who’d brought me, had his whole hand up my ass! It felt like his whole forearm up to the elbow was inside my ass! That was the first time, but not the last by any means, that I was anally ‘fisted.’

"But you know what else? I made three thousand dollars that night, in about six hours! I’d never made that kind of money before. That’s when I found out just how lucrative being a BD/SM anal whore actually could be. I decided right then and there that this was a market that I needed to tap into."

Calvin "calsur" continued, "So I began to specialize in BD/SM and especially in anal fisting! I have to tell you though, it sure is rough on the anus! After a while, I had been ‘fisted’ so many times that I completely lost control of my anal sphincter. Now, I can’t even hold my own shit in anymore. I have to wear a damned ‘Depends’ adult diaper just to keep from shittin’ my pants!"

Damn! Calvin had been ‘fisted’ so many times that he completely lost control of his bodily functions! Still, he was philosophical about it, "So you see, Steve, I may have to wear a fucking diaper to keep from shittin’ myself, but I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t sucked all those dicks, taken them up the ass, and taken all those fists up the ass!"

"However, by working hard, working smart, and saving my money, I’ve worked my way up from a runaway streetwalking 16-year old blowjob queen to the head of an investment syndicate that owns three very very lucrative bondage brothels! Now, are you sure I can’t persuade you to change your mind about having sex with men once you come to work in my brothel?"

Regardless of what "calsur" had done and how he had made his money, I was absolutely sure that I didn’t want to have end up having to wear a diaper just to keep from crapping my pants! I just wasn’t interested, regardless of how mush money there was to be made! I told him so too, "No thanks! That’s my one condition, take it or leave it!"

He agreed, "Fine then, suit yourself! We have a deal! You start work tomorrow afternoon at six. I’ll call you and give you directions tomorrow. Steve, this is an opportunity to make more money that you can possible imagine!"

So, with that, I started my career on the "management fast track" at "calsur’s" bondage brothel. I did manage to collect a substantial sum of money too. Some of the money I earned, but most of it, well…let’s just say, I "helped myself", or that I "saw an opportunity" that I was able to exploit to my advantage. After all, if you steal from a thief, is it really stealing?

Next Chapter, A Brush With "The Authorities", Theft, Betrayal, and a New Life!

Stay Tuned………..

[DancingTofu]

Note to Self: STOP leaving this thread up on the computer at work and wandering off!

Wow. Enjoying the tall tales, that for sure! My exploits are less shocking in contrast, but you've got to understand where I'm coming from. I grew up a PK - pastor's kid. I was baby Jesus in the manger when I was little, and then Mary when I was older. (What kind of a complex do you suppose that leads to?) So, you know, church every Sunday, (Wednesdays too, come Lent and Advent), Sunday School, confirmation; this was my background.

The last months of high school come rolling around, and I'm riding around town in a friend's car. Deathtrap Dave, that car was named. It's about 1 a.m., and we've just freed a grounded friend through her window. Bored, looking for something to do. Ahh, here's Zion, the sister church of my dad's church. They've always got the sermon title for the next Sunday on their lit mini-marquee out on the lawn.

It reads: "One God? One God!" Ohhh... too tempting. We pull over a block away and sneak up on the unsuspecting sign. It's got glass over the letters, and it's latched, but not locked. Excellent. DriverMan hold the glass up, Escapee hovers about in shocked horror. I dart underneath and with a moment's work, I've stolen an E and moved a critical N.

It NOW reads: "One God? No God!" Delighted with our own daring, we repeat the performance on the other side of the sign and sprint for the car. The best part is, no one at the church noticed for about 2 days. We went back the next afternoon and took pictures. (Sadly, I have since lost my copy of that picture.)

I do a lot of house- and dog-sitting these days, and while perhaps my adventures doing so don't fall so much under the topic of "Youthful Indescretions" as they do under "Explosive Fuckups" and "Temporarily Insane Mishaps," they are nonetheless amusing. I think that the Chihuahua Story tops the list. Perhaps another day, though, I really ought to do some of the work they're paying me for here.

x<:3 <--ratty loves you, I do too!

--manda, a Dravidian language spoken in south central India.

[Treehugr11]

She wrote the letter to her brother, telling everything, how he betrayed her...How she'd been living with this heartbreak these last few years, and could think of nothing
else. She wanted closure, hell, she wanted VENGENCE. Being her beloved brother, he would no more turn away her request than cut off his right arm.
Which is exactly what he wanted to do to her so-called "husband". He said he would find Mr. Steve Wilson if it was the last thing he did.... And he did. He found out alot
about Mr. "Wilson". Being in the FBI, and far up the ladder, he had access to any information reguarding undercover stings and such. The US Marshall's office gave him a name. Putting his "name" through the
data base came a wealth of information. Her "husband" was in the witness protection program for being a states witness against the 'Bondage Mafia' in Las Vegas. In the files they concluded
he turned on his "Don" Calvin Bryant and had taken millions with him just before the FBI nabbed them. Mr. Wilson was now Steve Wild. The witness protection program had set him up in
Chattanooga, Tennessee. They never found out where he put the millions he's taken from his former boss. They thought the Caymen Islands were an approximate bet. Mr. Bryant had spent 5 years
in prison on various charges, not being able to pin the more time consuming on him... Very interesting she thought to herself....Some one else wants his head. Calling the airport she made her reservation.
She would meet this Calvin Bryant....find out more info and hopefully have her vengence and come out on top too....Vegas is beautiful this time of year....

[robotland]

I expect there to be a band named "The Icy Hot Contract" immediately! (I can play a mean triangle!)

[RingO'Fire]

THE ICY HOT CONTRACT - THE BACK STORY - PART V

So, in the summer of 1988, I went to work in one of Calvin “calsur” Bryant’s bondage brothels as a “dom.” Calvin had worked his way up from a runaway streetwalking male prostitute with a talent for being “fisted”, all the way up the “corporate ladder” to owning three lucrative bondage brothels in Las Vegas. Of course, while working his way up the ladder, he had put just a little too much wear and tear on his anal sphincter and eventually lost control of his bowels. When I met him, he had to wear a “Depends” adult diaper to keep from shitting his pants. Ah, the price some of us are willing to pay to achieve “success.”

As it turned out too, my hetero-only orientation was not very much of a problem after all. There turned out to be plenty of women customers at the brothel who liked being dominated and humiliated before they got “serviced.”. Also, there were plenty of male customers whom I could bind up, dominate, whip, humiliate and then turn over to one of the other gay males or women prostitutes, depending upon the customers’ orientation.

Although I have described the methods by which “calsur” worked his way up from a street prostitute in painstakingly vivid, often vulgar detail, I haven’t told you about his sexual habits at the time that I knew him. It always seemed odd to me that here was a very powerful man, a wealthy successful head of an investment “syndicate”, yet the only partner I saw him with was one of the girls who worked for him as a dominatrix in the brothel, “Mistress Alexandra” or simply “Alex” as we called her.

Calvin had explained to me in several conversations during the time that I had known him how, back in the day, he was actually bisexual and enjoyed the pleasures of a womans company almost as much as he enjoyed the company of men. It always seemed a little odd that a man who earned his living in the sex trade, with access to dozens of beautiful, willing men and/or women partners, only had one infrequent relationship. Then, one slow afternoon at the club, the reason for his apparent loyalty to Alex became all too apparent. “calsur” was impotent! He “didn’t have any lead in his pencil!” This is how I found out about “calsur’s” embarrassing condition.

This particular afternoon, I saw Calvin and Alex hand in hand, with smiles on their faces, heading into one of the “guest rooms” at the brothel. I assumed that they were going to occupy themselves in a little “afternoon delight” lovemaking session. After they had been in there about a half hour or so, I heard a bloodcurdling scream. This wasn’t the scream of someone being whipped or spanked. No, I was used to hearing those kinds of screams after working in bondage joint for a few months. This scream was different. It sounded like the scream of someone in excruciating pain, like they’d been shot or stabbed or something.

I quickly ran down the hall and opened the door to the room they were in. When I looked inside, I saw Calvin lying on the bed, grabbing his genitals, and writhing in pain. There was huge red blood stain in the middle of the bed. Alex was standing over him, nude, with a look of horror on her face. I immediately accused her, “What did you do to him?!” “I didn’t do anything!” She snapped back, “I didn’t mean to hurt him! I didn’t know the damned thing was going to break like that!” “What damned thing?” I demanded of her.

Then, obviously in severe pain, Calvin answered me from the bed, “My pump! My penis pump! Oh God, it feels like my dick’s been ripped halfway off! Call a fucking ambulance! Oh wait! No, don’t call an ambulance; I don’t want them coming here! Y’all will have to take me to the hospital. Hurry, help me get up!”

Alex through on her clothes. I wrapped up Calvin in the bloody bedspread and carried him out to his Lincoln Town Car. He was moaning in pain the whole time. As I placed him, as gently as I could place a fully grown man, into the back seat of the Town Car, he remarked wryly, “Oh damn! I’m gonna get blood all over my seats!” Then Alex and I hopped in the car and the three of us sped off to University Hospital.

We screeched to a halt in front of the Emergency Room doors. I scrambled out, ran inside and grabbed a wheelchair sitting inside the door. I ran behind the wheelchair back out to the car, helped “calsur” gingerly climb in, still wrapped in the bedspread and wheeled him right up the emergency room admissions desk.

Although we were clearly freaking out, the admissions nurse was cool and calm. “What is the problem?” she asked. Calvin sheepishly replied under his breath, “Um, my penis pump appears to have ‘malfunctioned’, to say the least. I had a penis pump installed about two years ago for chronic erectile dysfunction. I think I’ve ripped it part of the way out of something. All I know is, I’ve torn something ‘down there’ and it’s bleeding and it hurts like hell.”

The nurse told Calvin, “Well sir, this is a rather unusual situation, but I’m sure we can help you. Now, sir, if you’ll just have a seat over here in the lobby, we’ll get you back to see a doctor just as soon as we can.” “Please miss, could you call my surgeon, Dr. Felding? He’s at Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery Associates right here on Maryland Drive.” The nurse told him one of the emergency room doctors would have to look at him first, but that he was free to call his doctor.

When we sat down in the lobby, Calvin immediately told me to go call his plastic surgeon, Dr. Felding, right away and tell him that he needed to come down to the University Hospital Emergency Room ASAP. Calvin told me to give the doctor his name and to tell him that is was an emergency. I called the doctor’s office as instructed, but since he was in with a patient, I had to relay all the information to one of the nurses in the doctor’s office. When I mentioned Calvin’s name, the nurse assured me that the doctor would be there as quickly as possible.

After a few minutes, the emegency room nurse came out and wheeled Calvin back into one of the exam rooms. About 20 minutes later, Dr. Felding showed up and went straight back into the exam room.

While we waited for Calvin to come back out, Alex and I discussed what had happened in the bedroom back at the bondage club. “Hey, what happened back there?” I asked her. She replied kind of sheepishly, “Well, you see, Calvin has this penis pump thing. He can’t get an erection without it. He told me how he had to get it a few years ago. Apparently he was having a private “party” with a married couple who were both hard core bondage freaks. He was still working a few private parties from time to time, mostly for long-time clients.

“Anyway, these guys that Calvin was working with were into extreme bondage, I mean hard core bondage, with ropes, and slings and suspensions and all that shit. You know, I really didn’t know all that much about all this bondage and domination stuff about before I came to work for Calvin. So, these folks were into erotic asphyxiation. Not auto-erotic asphyxiation; that’s a good way to get yourself killed. But letting someone else choke you while you’re having sex, you know, erotic asphyxiation. Supposedly, the partial asphyxiation makes you have really intense, mind-blowing orgasms.”

Alex continued, “So, this time, Calvin was on the receiving end of things, they had him all bound up, hog tied and suspended off the ground by all of the ropes and cords that he was tied up with. Of course, they his dick and balls all tied up and bound too! So, after the husband half of this couple that Calvin was with had busted his nut on Calvin and given Calvin a “happy ending”, they started untying him to lower him down. I guess that the dude didn’t know what he doing or he just untied the wrong knot at the wrong time or something. Anyway, somehow Calvin’s hands were still tied up while his feet fell to the floor or something like that. Regardless, somehow his cock and balls didn’t get untied and he was kind of halfway hanging from the rope tied around his dick or something.”

This seemed just a little too hard for me to believe, but then again, with Calvin almost anything was possible, “What?! No way! He was hanging from a rope tied around his dick and balls?! Damn! That must have hurt like hell!”

Alex explained it to the best of her understanding. “The way he told me that it happened was that he didn’t have all of his whole body weight hanging from his dick and balls. However, he did have enough of his weight pulling him down while the ropes were pulling his cock and balls up, that he really did some damage down there. However he did it exactly, he did some major damage to the veins in and around his penis. After the accident, he couldn’t get an erection anymore. He ‘didn’t have any lead in his pencil’, so to speak. He told me that he was severely depressed about it for months.

“After a while, he went to a vascular specialist and got this air pump surgically implanted in his penis. After the doctors put the pump in, Calvin could pump it up to give himself an erection. That’s the way it’s been with between us for the last year and a half or so. I guess he’s so embarrassed about it, and he feels comfortable with me since I already know, that we’ve pretty much been exclusive with each other for the past year or year and a half. He just pumps it up, and then we ‘go at it.’ That’s what we were doing tonight. Maybe I got just a little too enthusiastic or maybe ‘it’ got bent a little too much in the middle while I was riding it. All I know is, I was on top, riding him hard, and then he screamed in pain. I got off, looked down, and he was bleeding and yelling ‘my dick! My dick! OhMyGod I think you’ve torn it!’ I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t think that I was doing anything different than the way we’ve done it before.”

I tried to reassure her, “It may have just been one of those freak accidents, who knows? I’m sure it’s not your fault. You should relax; you didn’t do anything wrong.”

After another hour or so, they wheeled Calvin back out into the lobby. His doctor, Doctor Felding, was walking beside him as the emergency room nurse pushed the wheelchair. Doctor Felding gave him some parting advice, “Calvin, now you keep that iced down for the next 24 hours like I told you. Come see me on Thursday morning and we’ll see if we can’t fix you up.”

Calvin replied, “OK Doc, I’ll see you Thursday.” We wheeled him out to the car and helped him gingerly ease himself back into the back seat. “So, what did they say?!” I asked him. Calvin replied sullenly, “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll tell you later.” The rest of the drive home was quiet and awkward. Calvin was clearly very upset about what had happened to him and about what the Doctor had said.

For the next couple of days, he moped about the club, sullen and withdrawn. On the third day, he opened up to me, “Steve, I’m sorry if I’ve been a grouch these past few days. I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all. The doctor told me that my penis was so damaged, that I might not ever be able to have sex ever again. He’s going to remove what’s left of the pump too. All I’ll have is a little dangling piece of flesh that I can pee through, but isn’t of any other use. I’m very, very upset about it.”

“calsur” continued, “The doctor did give me another possibility for a healthy sex life though. He did hold out one small ray of hope for me, but I have to make a really tough decision. It’s the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my life too. The doctor told me that I could have a healthy fulfilling sex life, AS A WOMAN! He said that my penis was so damaged, that the only way I could ever have a fulfilling sex life was if I become a transexual and have my sex changed from a man to a woman! The only alternative is to be a limp-dicked impotent old fart. I’ve been stewing over this for the past few days, but I think I’ve finally made up my mind. I’m going to go through with it. I’m going to get my sex changed and become a woman!”

Next Chapter…Busted, Extorted into Betrayal, and a New Life Underground

Stay Tuned......

[Treehugr11]

Getting off the plane, the heat hit her like a slap in the face. Taking a cab to the Sahara she rang Calvin. After speaking to him for a moment and after he'd realized who she was, he agreed to meet in one hour at the bar. She was quite suprised at who or what met her.
It was hard to decipher, a man that looked like a hagard old woman, or a woman that had lived too much .And there was a mysterious odor about him/her. Not to mention the bulge at the side. Either way, it had boobs, so she addressed it as such. "Ms. Bryant, we need to have a conversation."...During the talk, they decided to work together. This man had a vendetta against the same man she wanted to bring down.. He enticed her with more money than what she was thinking of. He told her of the millions he took, but he would pay her to bring him down. HMMM. Collect both, get his, and her Flighty husbands'. Some mention of Steve's fear of Icy Hot was mentioned by Mr./Ms. Calsur, but she didn't give it a thought at that time....

The deal was made. Back at her room she made hotel arrangements for Chattanooga. Taking the next flight she landed and made way to the Marriott. Getting a paper, she found a place to rent and luckily found someone needing help at a place downtown. She would fit in. Hired the next day, the Lords of Vengence were on her side...First day of work she meets a nice girl, Crimson. They talk, and in telling of her tale Crimson sympathizes. "Men are pigs, Do what you have to girlfriend." A few days go by, she settles into work, meanwhile at night she hunts for the one that crumpled her world like a used peice of paper. The unbelievable happens....Nearing the end of work one day Crimson asks her to come meet a friend of hers. She turns around. "Meet my friend Steve". It's all she can do to keep her jaw hinged and tongue from tasting every peice of lint on the floor...The SOB was standing in front of her and had the balls to hold out his hand. Keeping her composure, she takes his hand and shakes it, and at the same time realizing he doesn't remember who she is...Not even a flicker of recognition. Ahhh the insult to injury, hell hath no fury like the one bubbling inside of her. The injustice of it all. Oh, do I have plans for you my dear.....

[CrimsonHaze]

Apologies my devoted readers...I went out of town for a week, but I had plenty of time to work on my part of the story....

[CrimsonHaze]

Crimson held her breath. The front door opened, two voices float though the air. The glass door was only a few feet away. Something holds her to her spot....

"Over 5 Million dollars Haze!" Tree exclaims, handing the letter to her.
Haze reads the letter and a devious grin appears on her face.
"Is this information reliable?"
"It's from my brother," Tree says, "He's a fucking F.B.I. agent!"
"We have got to get our hands on this...." Haze says, taking a drag off her cigarette.
"That's the beauty of it girl, This Calvin person wants us to get the money, for his revenge, but I will have my revenge as well." Tree says, taking a sip from her dirty martini. "He probably has the account information in his house..."
Haze takes another drag and laughs. "I can get in his house."
Tree leans forward.
"How soon?"
"Friday Night, he's always out late with his lady friends."
A flash of anger crosses Tree's face.
"Good...let him have his fun... Saturday is the 'bbq'. His fucking balls are gonna be sweating bullets when they're dipped in IcyHot...."


Haze listens to the voices for nearly an hour. Why hadn't she noticed the car missing? Careless....
She finally relaxed as the door on the other side of the house closed.
Finally.....
She rolls out from under the bed, wiping sweat from her forehead. She clicks her flashlight on and shines it under the bed. Her eyes grew wide as she beheld the object that had been poking her back. She shivers with revulsion as her light reveals a large neon green strap-on. What the fuck....
She shines the light further under the bed and holds back a gasp tickling her throat. The light reflected off a huge silver dildo laying among a jumble of whips. Moving the light along, she found a dog collar. Reaching a hestitant hand under the bed, she pulls out the collar. It was a large leather dog collar lined with silver studs and spikes. Dangling from it was a big silver, heart-shaped tag. It read BAD KITTIE. Crimson clasped a hand over her mouth to stop the laughter from bursting out of her mouth. What kind of messed up freak is he....I thought he was an innocent, Tie-Dye making hippie...
She slid the collar back under the bed and continued her search. A letter lay among the objects she was discovering. FLUFFY was written across the front. She opened the envelope and pulled out a letter written in red ink.
"You NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY pussycat. Im gonna have to spank that cute little bad ass all night long...."
She put the letter in her pocket and replaced the envelope. Tree is gonna love this....
Moving on she found a large pile of DVDs and began pulling them out. 'Duece Bigalow, Male Gigilo.' was laying on on the top of the pile. Odd.. She read title after title, all of them seeming a bit odd for a middle-aged man to have. One of them, called 'Mr. Goodbar' she didnt even recognize. Then she paused as she read one she did recognize. 'Never been kissed.' She sets it aside, confusion written across her face. 'Sweet Home Alabama' 'A Walk to Remember' 'Sleepless in Seattle' These were all chick-flicks she had watched herself. But that was normal for a newly blooming hit-woman of only 18... Why would he have them under his bed. She nearly laughed as the next DVD read 'Kill Bill V.1' A bunch of woman in spandex beating the shit out of each other... that was understandable. The last of the DVDs were the best of all, in her opinion. She hadnt even seen one episode of the show, but she knew what it was all about. Hidden beneath Ring's bed, the innocent geologist who had taught her the beauty of making Tie-Dye, the feeling of creating something beautiful, was the entire collection of 'Sex and the City.'
Crimson makes a mental note to get the real story behind all this from Tree. She replaces the DVDs and slowly gets to her feet. The light of her flashlight slowly illuminating his room little by little as she turned a full circle. Her light landed again on the closet. She walks to the closet, her feet barely making a sound as she slides the door back open. His button up shirts, his khaki pants, his bandage suit back in it's place in the bottom of the closet , and stack of shoe boxes in the corner. She paused on the shoe boxes. She hadn't checked inside them yet.
She reached for the box on top, her fingers on the lid when she froze. A yellow envelope was barely peeking out from between two shoe boxes. She lifted the shoe box on top and read the bold letters written across it. 'Letters from Mom'
But why hide them... Her mind began to work as she picked up the envelope.
Gravels popped and bounced as the silver truck began its journey down the steep driveway.
Haze jerked her head up and listened. SHIT! She replaced the box and quickly opened the envelope. She shined the light into the envelope and her eyes glimpsed two words before she clicked off the light and fled through the sliding glass door.
CAYMEN ISLANDS

Ring walked into his room, accompanied by his date for the evening and felt a small trickle of air cross his face. He took no real notice of it and began 'making his moves'.
The small crack between the glass door and the frame whistled slightly at the wind blowing though it, drown out by the bed springs making their own tune....

[CrimsonHaze]

Crimson held her breath. The front door opened, two voices float though the air. The glass door was only a few feet away. Something holds her to her spot....

"Over 5 Million dollars Haze!" Tree exclaims, handing the letter to her.
Haze reads the letter and a devious grin appears on her face.
"Is this information reliable?"
"It's from my brother," Tree says, "He's a fucking F.B.I. agent!"
"We have got to get our hands on this...." Haze says, taking a drag off her cigarette.
"That's the beauty of it girl, This Calvin person wants us to get the money, for his revenge, but I will have my revenge as well." Tree says, taking a sip from her dirty martini. "He probably has the account information in his house..."
Haze takes another drag and laughs. "I can get in his house."
Tree leans forward.
"How soon?"
"Friday Night, he's always out late with his lady friends."
A flash of anger crosses Tree's face.
"Good...let him have his fun... Saturday is the 'bbq'. His fucking balls are gonna be sweating bullets when they're dipped in IcyHot...."


Haze listens to the voices for nearly an hour. Why hadn't she noticed the car missing? Careless....
She finally relaxed as the door on the other side of the house closed.
Finally.....
She rolls out from under the bed, wiping sweat from her forehead. She clicks her flashlight on and shines it under the bed. Her eyes grew wide as she beheld the object that had been poking her back. She shivers with revulsion as her light reveals a large neon green strap-on. What the fuck....
She shines the light further under the bed and holds back a gasp tickling her throat. The light reflected off a huge silver dildo laying among a jumble of whips. Moving the light along, she found a dog collar. Reaching a hestitant hand under the bed, she pulls out the collar. It was a large leather dog collar lined with silver studs and spikes. Dangling from it was a big silver, heart-shaped tag. It read BAD KITTIE. Crimson clasped a hand over her mouth to stop the laughter from bursting out of her mouth. What kind of messed up freak is he....I thought he was an innocent, Tie-Dye making hippie...
She slid the collar back under the bed and continued her search. A letter lay among the objects she was discovering. FLUFFY was written across the front. She opened the envelope and pulled out a letter written in red ink.
"You NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY pussycat. Im gonna have to spank that cute little bad ass all night long...."
She put the letter in her pocket and replaced the envelope. Tree is gonna love this....
Moving on she found a large pile of DVDs and began pulling them out. 'Duece Bigalow, Male Gigilo.' was laying on on the top of the pile. Odd.. She read title after title, all of them seeming a bit odd for a middle-aged man to have. One of them, called 'Mr. Goodbar' she didnt even recognize. Then she paused as she read one she did recognize. 'Never been kissed.' She sets it aside, confusion written across her face. 'Sweet Home Alabama' 'A Walk to Remember' 'Sleepless in Seattle' These were all chick-flicks she had watched herself. But that was normal for a newly blooming hit-woman of only 18... Why would he have them under his bed. She nearly laughed as the next DVD read 'Kill Bill V.1' A bunch of woman in spandex beating the shit out of each other... that was understandable. The last of the DVDs were the best of all, in her opinion. She hadnt even seen one episode of the show, but she knew what it was all about. Hidden beneath Ring's bed, the innocent geologist who had taught her the beauty of making Tie-Dye, the feeling of creating something beautiful, was the entire collection of 'Sex and the City.'
Crimson makes a mental note to get the real story behind all this from Tree. She replaces the DVDs and slowly gets to her feet. The light of her flashlight slowly illuminating his room little by little as she turned a full circle. Her light landed again on the closet. She walks to the closet, her feet barely making a sound as she slides the door back open. His button up shirts, his khaki pants, his bandage suit back in it's place in the bottom of the closet , and stack of shoe boxes in the corner. She paused on the shoe boxes. She hadn't checked inside them yet.
She reached for the box on top, her fingers on the lid when she froze. A yellow envelope was barely peeking out from between two shoe boxes. She lifted the shoe box on top and read the bold letters written across it. 'Letters from Mom'
But why hide them... Her mind began to work as she picked up the envelope.
Gravels popped and bounced as the silver truck began its journey down the steep driveway.
Haze jerked her head up and listened. SHIT! She replaced the box and quickly opened the envelope. She shined the light into the envelope and her eyes glimpsed two words before she clicked off the light and fled through the sliding glass door.
CAYMEN ISLANDS

Ring walked into his room, accompanied by his date for the evening and felt a small trickle of air cross his face. He took no real notice of it and began 'making his moves'.
The small crack between the glass door and the frame whistled slightly at the wind blowing though it, drown out by the bed springs making their own tune....

[calsur]

The Great CheezWiz Incident

So years ago I am heading up to Joshua Tree to do what we called “Bouldering” with some friends and all three “DLB’s”. Reference : DLB = Dumb Little Brother and Bouldering means climbing around on the rock piles out at Joshua Tree without the benefit of safety gear.

I was driving out with my bud Pete. Store that piece of information. The whole group, about 10 cars worth, about 35 guys, agreed to meet at a Denny’s in Palm Springs as we where coming from all over So Cal. So we all went in and were seated. And then I went to the bathroom. 5 minutes later when I come out of the bathroom the manager is there in my face and I have 2 choices, leave or he is calling the cops. So I left and to this day I never got the whole story on why we got booted out.

So we are all out in the parking lot trying to decide what to do for dinner when DLB #2, Tim, screams “Pressed Hams!” and about 20 guys run over to the Dennys windows, drop their pants and slam their butt cheeks into the windows!

Additional information. This was Palm Springs. Quote “Palm Springs - For the newly wed and the nearly dead.” When we, the 35 guys all about twenty years old, originally walk into the Dennys the average age went from 82.5 to 82.2. And this was way before Palm Springs got a reputation as a Spring Break Party town. The Palm Springs police where famous for their lack of humor back then. And 2 of Pete’s brothers where amongst the ham pressers.

Pete and I see all this. We see the manager screaming into phone and know the cops are on their way. Five old guys grabbing their walkers to hobble out to kick the wipper snappers asses.

Pete and I look at each other and have a complete Guy Gestalt moment. “Nobody has our license plate or finger prints. Now is a good time to leave.” So we did.

We are now heading up to Joshua Tree with empty bellies when I remember the can of CheezWiz and crackers I had packed for snacks. So I dug them out and made one for me and one for Pete and kept repeating till our stomachs stopped trying to digest our spines.

And then I stuck the CheezWiz can inside the cracker box. Store that bit of information also, please.

After scattering to the winds to avoid the cops we all met up at Joshua Tree. Pitched the tents, got a fire going and chilled out And the next day we had a great time climbing around on the rocks. When the sun got low we all headed back to camp for food and liquid refreshment.

Now I have to explain the fire places at Joshua Tree. They are 2 foot by 3 foot concrete pad set a little above the ground with this grill attached to a steel plate at the back. If you want to cook you flip the grill over the fire and if you want a camp fire you flip the grill out of the way. Now Pete had got back to camp before I did and did some cleaning up of his car. So he tossed the cracker box into the fire. The box with the CheezWiz can in it.

Dinner was cooked over the coals and the grill flipped back for the camp fire. More wood was added. Everyone is just mellowing out and talking. I am sitting on a ice chest next to a guy named Mark discussing if maybe we should do some rappelling tomorrow and get the

KABLAM

Mark is GONE and the whole camp is burning. 5 tents are on fire and my down jacket, which I was occupying, is smoldering in a dozen places. The only place in camp that was not burning was the fire place. It was swept clean to bare concrete. For the next ten minutes there was pure pandemonium as everyone is trying to save what they can from the burning tents.

Now in all the mayhem I had not seen Mark so I went looking for him and I found him in great pain laid out behind the ice chest we had been sitting on.

At this point I will summarize what we eventually determined to happen. As you have probably realized the ChezWiz can blew. That you do not know is that the 2 ounces of ChezWiz left in the bottom of the can had vitrified to the consistency of a golf ball. And what we could determine is the can acted like a gun barrel when it blew.

The blob of ChezWiz hit Mark on his shoulder, cleaned him off the ice chest and knock his breath out. The next day he had a huge bruise on shoulder with a perfect copy of the little stopper on the bottom of the can right in the center of the bruise.

Conclusions : Never trust anyone around a campfire.

[calsur]

The Great CheezWiz Incident

So years ago I am heading up to Joshua Tree to do what we called “Bouldering” with some friends and all three “DLB’s”. Reference : DLB = Dumb Little Brother and Bouldering means climbing around on the rock piles out at Joshua Tree without the benefit of safety gear.

I was driving out with my bud Pete. Store that piece of information. The whole group, about 10 cars worth, about 35 guys, agreed to meet at a Denny’s in Palm Springs as we where coming from all over So Cal. So we all went in and were seated. And then I went to the bathroom. 5 minutes later when I come out of the bathroom the manager is there in my face and I have 2 choices, leave or he is calling the cops. So I left and to this day I never got the whole story on why we got booted out.

So we are all out in the parking lot trying to decide what to do for dinner when DLB #2, Tim, screams “Pressed Hams!” and about 20 guys run over to the Dennys windows, drop their pants and slam their butt cheeks into the windows!

Additional information. This was Palm Springs. Quote “Palm Springs - For the newly wed and the nearly dead.” When we, the 35 guys all about twenty years old, originally walk into the Dennys the average age went from 82.5 to 82.2. And this was way before Palm Springs got a reputation as a Spring Break Party town. The Palm Springs police where famous for their lack of humor back then. And 2 of Pete’s brothers where amongst the ham pressers.

Pete and I see all this. We see the manager screaming into phone and know the cops are on their way. Five old guys grabbing their walkers to hobble out to kick the wipper snappers asses.

Pete and I look at each other and have a complete Guy Gestalt moment. “Nobody has our license plate or finger prints. Now is a good time to leave.” So we did.

We are now heading up to Joshua Tree with empty bellies when I remember the can of CheezWiz and crackers I had packed for snacks. So I dug them out and made one for me and one for Pete and kept repeating till our stomachs stopped trying to digest our spines.

And then I stuck the CheezWiz can inside the cracker box. Store that bit of information also, please.

After scattering to the winds to avoid the cops we all met up at Joshua Tree. Pitched the tents, got a fire going and chilled out And the next day we had a great time climbing around on the rocks. When the sun got low we all headed back to camp for food and liquid refreshment.

Now I have to explain the fire places at Joshua Tree. They are 2 foot by 3 foot concrete pad set a little above the ground with this grill attached to a steel plate at the back. If you want to cook you flip the grill over the fire and if you want a camp fire you flip the grill out of the way. Now Pete had got back to camp before I did and did some cleaning up of his car. So he tossed the cracker box into the fire. The box with the CheezWiz can in it.

Dinner was cooked over the coals and the grill flipped back for the camp fire. More wood was added. Everyone is just mellowing out and talking. I am sitting on a ice chest next to a guy named Mark discussing if maybe we should do some rappelling tomorrow and get the

KABLAM

Mark is GONE and the whole camp is burning. 5 tents are on fire and my down jacket, which I was occupying, is smoldering in a dozen places. The only place in camp that was not burning was the fire place. It was swept clean to bare concrete. For the next ten minutes there was pure pandemonium as everyone is trying to save what they can from the burning tents.

Now in all the mayhem I had not seen Mark so I went looking for him and I found him in great pain laid out behind the ice chest we had been sitting on.

At this point I will summarize what we eventually determined to happen. As you have probably realized the ChezWiz can blew. That you do not know is that the 2 ounces of ChezWiz left in the bottom of the can had vitrified to the consistency of a golf ball. And what we could determine is the can acted like a gun barrel when it blew.

The blob of ChezWiz hit Mark on his shoulder, cleaned him off the ice chest and knock his breath out. The next day he had a huge bruise on shoulder with a perfect copy of the little stopper on the bottom of the can right in the center of the bruise.

Conclusions : Never trust anyone around a campfire.

[calsur]

Sorry about the double post.

[CrimsonHaze]

Well, I had a gut-busting laugh over all the shit we were gonna make up about this bondage soap opera.....but damn.
I decided to check out a new store in town the other day. It was a bondage store, so I thought, what the fuck, I'll check it out.
Well, my friend and I entered and began checking out the merchandise. It was pretty bland. No variety, not much selection, and huge price tags. So, I was making my way for the door when the owner 'Mr. Cameron', struck up a conversation with my friend. He begans talking all this kinky shit, which doesn't really bother me. She started giving him a line of bs right back. I was meanwhile disgusted with this guy's outfit. White t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue, tight, police pants with the gold stripe running up the sides. Combat boots. For a 42 year old man...come on!
So, he says "You know you ladies can make a lot of money with that kind of thing..." I still dont know why he included me in this little endeavor. So, of course my friend (Who is a bit of a freak) asks how.
"Well, I used to run a dungeon in Atlanta, where I had about 4 girls working as dominatrixes. I trained them and they made about 200 bucks an hour."
By this time an unsettling look has settled in his eyes and I have the feeling that in his mind I no longer stand with clothing.
My friend, who was talking earlier about a way to make some easy money, exclaims "Really!?"
He smiles and begans explaining his 'dungeon' to us. 200 bucks an hour, no sexual contact except for your subject licking your boot. My friend was getting very compelled by this.
So, as he is laying out this 'offer' he keeps talking as if I would be interested to. I thought maybe my silence had gotten the point across.
"Well, can you be submissive?" He asks both of us. I dont answer.
My friend though, goes into a big speech about how she likes to be in control, on top. So, he turns to me and asks, with an increasingly creepy look, "So, are you a 'top' or a 'bottom'?"
I could barely contain my laughter. My answer, as I now think was probably not the best, was: "I more of a 'good old fashioned hump' if you know what I mean."
So, this dude walks toward me and begans circling me with a 'Im seeing through your clothes' look. I could have gone apeshit by this point. He walks behind us and went to a can of riding crops sitting in the corner for sale. I was meanwhile motioning to my friend that we leave. She was about to make a comment about having to go when a 'flesh against leather' sound hit my ears.
Mr. Cameron had returned with a fucking riding crop in hand and was smacking onto his hand. He had the most vile, creepy look I believe I have ever seen in his eyes as he began circling my friend. He poked her on the as with it, then 'smack,smack' on her hip.
He was still talking all this bullshit as he began 'spanking' her ass with this thing. I barely kept my jaw from falling onto the floor. I couldn't believe this was happening! Then his attentions turn to me as he delivers a final, violent lash to her ass.
"So, can you be submissive?" He says, patting my ass with this thing.
He began a little 'smack, smack' on my ass. I took a step away and held up my hands. "That's not really my thing man."
So, he backed off, much to my suprise. I half expected to be dragged to the back room and tied up for days while being tortured by this sicko freak.
At this moment, two people walk in and began looking around. I looked at my watch and my friend picked up my hint. She asked what time it was, I told her, and she exclaims "Oh man! We're late! We gotta go!"
So, we exit the store and make a bee-line for her truck.
My friend still says she thinks she could do it, for the money. But I think this guy meant 'training' us as in being his little fuck toys for a while before he lets us loose in a 'dungeon' or something.

It was the most uncomfortable situation I believe I have ever been in. Not to mention how closely it follows our story. This happened just a couple of days ago.
NOTE TO ALL: If you are ever in Chattanooga, steer clear of the 'Loca Luna' store off of Frasier Ave.

[Lilly Flower]

Oh dear,

where is Ring O' Fire. I haven't seen any writings from him in awhile.
I would just love to hear about his adventure in San Francisco.

[calsur]

Lilly Flower,

He is currently in his back room performing illegal liposuctions on penguins and tie dieing llamas.

[CrimsonHaze]

Oh, he had some adventures in San Francisco. I hope he tells us all about them.

[RingO'Fire]

Sorry I've been absent for so long you guys. I've been dropping in and reading threads here on the eplaya, but I haven't posted much lately. I was so completely stressed out before I went on my trip out to California; I've been trying not to get into that state of mind again since I got back. I have a tendency to try to be a Superman and am constanty over-commiting my time and then juggling all my (over) commitments.

Since I got back to Chattanooga last Monday (Memorial Day), I've been catching up on all those tasks in my "real life" that I had put on the back burner (and you know that I don't want to be a "back-burner"). I've been doing stuff like: getting broken vehicles fixed, cleaning house, cleaning out my basement (w/ my 69-year old dad, who has Alzheimers) before it gets converted into a den and extra bedroom later this summer, and getting ready to go to the Bonnaroo music festival this coming weekend (http://www.bonnaroo.com).

I hope you'll all forgive my narratus interruptus; I just kind of ran out of steam before I left for the west coast. However, I'm now building my steam back up as you read this. There will be a release of steam (or least some hot air) in the near future.

[calsur]

A new generation of Youthful Indiscretions has been realized. My nephew shut down Terminal 4 of LAX for about 10 minutes today. Nick, 7 years old, decided he had to take his new 38 caliber cap gun on the two week vacation to Hawaii.

With the expected results.

Just a word of advice to anyone flying with a kid. Check the backpack.

[BAS]

Poor kid-- I'll bet he had no idea of what was going on! He was lucky he didn't get sent off somewhere as a suspected terrorist..., lately is seems as if the government is paranoid enough to arrest a 7 year old as a terrorist.

I do have to admire him for shutting down part of LAX for 10 minutes, though!

[calsur]

BAS,

Actually his was lucky to be surrounded by 50 or 60 cops. Probably the only thing that saved his buns from Grandpa's wrath.

[Dan D. Lyon]

Well, I had a gut-busting laugh over all the shit we were gonna make up about this bondage soap opera...

So this thread has drifted from true (on good faith) 'Youthful Indescretions' to creative writing / fiction? I've really enjoyed this thread, though I haven't any stories to add that would be all that interesting or entertaining. The kidnapping story has been a hoot, though it was sliding from youthful indescretions to adult debachery... I'm curious Ring, did it slip from fact to fiction with the 'back-story'... ??? or has it been a tall tale from the get-go? You really had me going... and thoroughly enjoying it.

[calsur]

Dan D. Lyon

For the record, Ring and I have never met. I was seriously thinking about going up to meet him in Monterey when he was out here last month but my boss offered public execution as my only option if I do not finish up a project before the end of the fiscal year. Plus I am trying to save up vacation for the Playa.

As to the "Back Story". The whole thing is a complete fabrication by a certain un-named red head. But I would like to take the opportunity to point out that the red head has a very extensive knowledge of BDSM devices and the effects of long term anal insertions.

Perhaps this is personal knowledge? The EPlaya can only wonder.

And Ring. You PMed me on the 28 of May that you would resume posting "next week". That should have been the 4th of June. As it is now the 15th of June I must admit that I agree with your PM and you are a SLACKER. You have loyal fans here waiting for your next post. So get off your slacker butt and post!

[Zulegoona]

Seems like the " Back Story " has died a death of neglect sinking into a thick foul smelling pool of sleaze. Maybe it should be left there and other people and ring could get back to stories of " Youthful indiscretions".