Trying to hide something from someone close to you.
Even when it’s the right thing, when you’re doing it for your own protection.
Every awkward pause is a moment where you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time they have something they want to talk about, you wonder if they found out.
Especially with your parents. Especially when you’re still living with them.
As a teen, a low level stress seeps into your relationship with them. You avoid spending too much time alone. You find excuses to not be as present.
The need to remove yourself from the specter of investigation looms over you day and night. As if not being physically present would somehow shield them from ever finding the truth.
So when you father calls you in to “talk about something important” your heart rate goes crazy. You look for an excuse.
When he says “No, we can’t talk about it later,” your adrenaline is kicking in.
You try and maintain composure. You try to act like you haven’t been waiting for this for months.
“I wanted to talk to you about this, just the two of us. I know how much it would upset your mother.” He says, that look on his face saying he’s not mad, just disappointed.
Author’s Note: Everything contained here is fantasy and does not reflect the author’s personal or political views. This is much darker than my normal content. The following ‘script’ is meant to be a dystopian fantasy, blurring the line between erotic and unsettling.
“Feminist rebel is captured on camera!”
Webcam footage of a terrorist woman is leaked! For everyone saying this was staged: LOL look at this bitch’s face!!!
As the last puzzle piece fell into place, Lara could hear the click behind the wall. Finally, after weeks of searching for the rune keys in the surrounding jungle, she’d finally get to see if the mysterious legends we’re true.
Pushing the stone door inward, she took the first careful steps into the darkness, her eyes still struggling to make out anything ahead.
Wham!
Bloody hell. I should have know this was another trap!
“Man, this is boring. Seriously, this is the new Tomb Raider?”
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Lara searched the inky black surroundings for some hint of the source.
A second voice chimed in. “Yup, another reboot. The graphics are amazing, and the AI is supposedly unbelievable…”
Reboot? AI? Lara wondered to herself. What is this, some dastardly hacking conspiracy? But why play her this recording?
It was the newest viral trend. “Ahgg-ing” the kids called it.
The basic premise was simple: get stupid enough that you reflexively made the ‘Ahgg’ face (‘ahego’ to the old timers).
At first, everyone was doing it. Celebrities, Instagram models, Twitch streamers. But then things started to escalate.
Soon, it wasn’t enough to pretend to be stupid. Now you needed to be truly be ‘Brain Drained’.
TMZ started running hit-pieces on celebrities caught ‘faking’ Ahgg faces. BuzzFeed made listicles on the best ways to actually, temporarily, reduce your IQ (#7 was sleep deprivation, #5 was pot, #2 was nitrous, #1 was edging with all of the above).
More feminist-forward sites like Jezebel wrote lengthy posts on how to responsibility Ahgg. The cover of Teen Vogue loudly declared “Brain Drain on your own terms!”.
A cottage industry popped up overnight of Ahgg ‘supplements’. They were everywhere. When a Kardashian backed brand launched (‘B1MBO2’) it sold out everywhere, from 7-11 to GNC.
At the end of the year heath experts started to raise concerns about how permanent the effects were. The FDA’s report on oxygen deprivation and permanent brain damage came too late.
By the time the public was aware of the long term impact of true Ahgg-ing, no one cared. All the major influencers, from Twitter to Snapchat, were mindless, giggling bimbos.
It was cool to get your brains literally fucked out on camera. Social media sites had to relax their content standards to stay relevant. Seven top ten posts on YouTube were girls going Full Bimbo, having their IQ points drained while orgasming. The most of them were the cocksucking method, but lesbian assisted ‘conversion’ was also popular.
In the end, this generation was left with millions of dumb, horny teens; unable to have a future beyond performing and fucking. There was some moral panic about the future of the country, but that quickly quieted down with the baby boom.
Soon, a new class of mother’s were everywhere. The original Ahgg-ing generation, raising the next wave of airheaded teens.
Now, we’re bracing for the Bimbo Boom, as the media has taken to calling it. Everyone’s speculating on what will happen to society, how norms and fashion will change.
Me? I’m just happy to have a near infinite pick of objectified sluts. In person, on TV and online, there’s no shortage of mindless girls to watch and use.
I can’t wait for my daughter’s ‘graduation’ this May. I know she and her friends will blow up the porn scene, just like her mother.
They’re already planning a ‘forced conversion’ series, with anti-bimbo resistance members fucked into submission. It’s all smoke and mirrors, with some consenting actress playing the victim, but I think it’s going to be big. She has a bright future ahead of her.
There’s a lot I wish I could change about that summer.
I wish I’d gotten Naomi out of there, out of Bedford. Especially after realizing how lost she was that day on the side of the highway. I could have just kept driving, fuck the school and the plan to download the ghost file.
I wish my horny, immature, 18 year old self could see I was constantly hedging. Betting Naomi’s freedom, her mind, on the chance I could… I don’t even know…
The change take advantage of her?
I hate myself to even say it. To talk about my wife, the mother of my child like that.
But I’ve come to terms with that a while ago. As much as I tried to obscure it to Naomi and even myself at the time, the truth is I was weak and selfish.
And I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since then.
The thing that makes it difficult to clear my conscious is how fuzzy things got by July. Not just the imperfect memories that come with age, but the programming and the chemicals I now know were influencing Naomi and I that whole summer.
That fog and the ambiguity it brings is a double edged sword.
On one hand, there’s the specter of absolution; everything I did or didn’t do may have been beyond my control. I can point my judgement and revulsion at the men (and woman) who drugged and hypnotized me for their own gains.
On the other hand, I can’t be certain what actions were my own. I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.
But then, some nights, when Naomi is particularly horny and spaced out, she begs me to save her.
It’s an act. She’s beyond saving now, and she knows it. We both are.
Still, my wife will look up at me, with a mimicry of her old, teenage self. She’ll lock eyes with me and beg me not to take advantage of her. She’ll plead with me not to turn her into a slutty, mindless caricature. She’ll say she doesn’t want the same fate as her mother.
Naomi says all this because she knows it drives me wild. It’ll always been in the middle of some heavy foreplay, right when she knows I’m struggling to pace myself. She’ll turn on her ‘old’ self, and watch me swim with guilt and desire.
Not that it really matters. The deed is done and Naomi is who she is now. But she likes seeing it play out again, watching me break because I want her so badly.
And I lose that battle every time. I always fuck her. And Naomi smiles and slowly lets her facade drop, turning her pleas into giggles and moans of pleasure.
I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.
Kim loved Frank, far more than she had ever thought capable.
The late 30s business woman had sealed herself off romantically for most of her adult life, embracing the whispered sneers of Ice Queen and Dragon Lady. If her peers wanted to throw stereotypes at her, she’d give them reason to fear and respect her, God damn it. Kim knew her stunning looks turned heads, and the Asian-American woman knew when to leverage her assets.
Then Frank came along. He was warm and patient and handsome. Sure, he was almost 15 years older, but he was fit and charming. A silver Fox through and through.
So here Kim was, likely only months away from a proposal, successful and happy. Everything was perfect.
Everything, except for Frank’s 16 year old daughter, Amy.
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