Vegas – Revisited – Part One
They say what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, and generally, that is a good rule of thumb. Sometimes though a story has to be told and shared; you can’t live with it inside any longer.
So I awoke shivering in an ice-filled tub, scarlet red from blood, apparently mine! As I started to regain consciousness, I realized some shit wasn’t right! I was sutured and stapled shut in key places that are considered sanctity and not to be fucked with. Where was I? How did I get here? And WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?
My manhood was GONE! No more beans and franks, bat and balls, PENIS and TESTICLES? Sitting in ice, I was now a smoothie, a eunuch, a fucking nullo. WHAT THE FUCK!! This was not something I signed up for.
As my racing head slowed from 1000 mph to something less ridiculous, it was time to reflect on the last 24 hours and piece the fragments in my brain into a narrative, a horrific, scary narrative of how I got here.
.::.
It all began as playful banter at the wet bar of the European swimming pool after an incredibly long day of conferences at the Wynn. It was time to relax, knock back a few cold ones, and see where the night might lead. There is always plenty of eye candy in Vegas, especially for the annual proctologist’s conference; A.N.U.S. Association of National Upper Sphincter. The European pool is always my personal choice, as the topless sun-worshipping goddesses mingle uninhibited.
Honestly, I felt one piece of candy cast her come-hither snare my direction as soon as I arrived. Her platinum pixie cut was the perfect frosting to her impeccably tan-n-toned rocking body. Her flawlessly perky c-cups shimmered as the sun glistened across the sheen of cocoa butter, accenting every incredible curve and crevice.
As I approached the bar to order my first drink of daily escape, this magical unicorn perched herself on the stool next to mine. I thought to myself, now this perfect piece of living art sits atop a pedestal for admiration. As I was about to order myself an adult elixir, it would be rude not to offer one to my new fascination.
“Hello, I am Victor,” I said in a tone of a young pubescent boy.
“Nice to meet you, Victor, I am Dani,” she replied, with a smooth, soothing British voice.
“What’s your poison of choice?” I chuckled “The first one is on me.”
“If the first one is on you, and I get to lick it off, make it a Pina Colada,” she winked.
“Bartender,” I called, “Can we get a Pina Colada and an extra dirty-dry Goose martini, please.”
Dani reaches over, placing her hand on my thigh, clutching as she whispers in my ear, “I love a dirty man, but I will make sure you are not dry for long.”
It has now gone from six to midnight in my yellow banana hammock.
As she pulls back away, she inquires “Are you here for the ANUS conference? Are you an ass man?”
Her beautiful British symmetric harmonious voice tones (ASMR) are almost hypnotic, like listening to Siri when you change to the UK setting. Her spellbinding voice was making me tingling from head to toe.
“Yes, Dani, I am a doctor of proctology, here with a few thousand others.”
Without hesitation, she leans in for another whisper, takes a small nibble on my lower lobe, “Well, Doctor ass-man, I will be expecting a thorough exam shortly.”
Dani had overwhelmingly cemented her status as of today’s candy flavor of choice. That body, titillating wit, and voice countries go to war for made the complete package. I could not wait to find those itty-bitty bikini bottoms on the floor later.
We had a couple-few too many more adult beverages while frolicking in the grotto. I was getting a little sample taste of tonight’s specimen. As Dani started running her fingers slowly across my swollen soldier, I convinced her we should make our way upstairs to the penthouse room I had received as an upgrade. She agreed as we both wrapped in a towel for the walk back, she grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag which was still sitting by the bar.
Once the private elevator opened on the 62nd floor, she quickly cast her towel over the 24k banister and discarded her remaining bikini threads off the balcony, like a paper airplane taking flight over Sin City.
“Now let’s get this party started,” she teased. “How hard do you like to party Victor?”
“I’m all in … up for anything!” I countered with drunken confidence.
“ANYTHING? Anything at all, Victor? Do you think you can handle all this?”
“Dani, I am yours for the taking, putty in your hands,” looking down I realized maybe not putty.
She joked, “I may need a consent agreement before you ride this ride, Victor!”
Without hesitation, I replied, “YES, yes you little sexy vixen … bring it on!”
Out of her, Louis Vuitton came a virtual buffet of pills, oils, toys, three 8 balls, and some shit I’d never even seen before. Red, blue, purple, yellow, and green pills and four cut lines now adorned the mirror tray atop the polished marble bar in the room. We shared the four lines of beautiful snow, kicked back one of each color magic bean, as Dani referred to them, washed down with three fingers of Johnnie Walker Double Black.
The doctor/nurse health checks began the moment Dani threw me against the wall and started exploring the healthiness of my tonsils with her tongue. Now the blood is rushing to my head, in more ways than one. Holy fucking shit, this never happens at the annual conference. Millions of neurotransmissions rush through my body and brain; my thought processes were reaching overload. Maybe the bronzed and perfectly smooth specimen, naked except her 3-inch red and black Jimmy Choos would be the last dream sequence my brain would be able to process before a massive aneurysm.
As our naked, oily bodies slid down the wall to the Italian floor tile, she mounted me faster than a cowboy heading out to the south forty at the first sign of trouble. Dani rode me like the mechanical horse outside the mall, fast, furious, bucking, and gyrating to enjoy every minute of the ride. While she rode bareback reverse cowgirl, in my world of delirium, I caught a glimpse of a covered tattoo that said DANI.ABC.XXY. I guess in the oily gyrations the foundation cover had smudged.
… what happens to Victor and Dani next? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
… end of part one …
Vegas – Revisited – Part Two
Dani starts riding the mechanical horse, like a thoroughbred mare coming down the final furloughs at Churchill Downs. She is whipping and screaming in the final stretch to the big finish. The roulette wheel of drugs and alcohol and the p(r)eakness of this breeder’s cup have my heart pounding. With the finish line in sight, she arches her back to get the deepest dick possible. I can feel the quiver convulsions build inside her walls …
SNAP .. CRACKLE ..POP …. WHAT THE FUCK? FUCK FUCK FUCK!!
Extreme fucking pain shot through my body in an instant. Pandemonium. Chaos. Shock. Delusions. Her vagina clamped down on me like a fucking bear trap. The pain was 10x more intense than being shot; I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, knocking at death’s door as I completely BLACKED OUT!
.. :: ..
So I awoke shivering in an ice-filled tub, scarlet red from blood, apparently mine! As I started to regain consciousness, I realized some shit wasn’t right! I was sutured and stapled shut in key places that are considered sanctity and not to be fucked with. Where was I? How did I get here? And WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?
My manhood was GONE! No more beans and franks, bat and balls, PENIS and TESTICLES? Sitting in ice, I was now a smoothie, a eunuch, a fucking nullo. WHAT THE FUCK!! This was not something I signed up for.
As my racing head slowed from 1000 mph to something less ridiculous, it was time to reflect on the last 24 hours and piece the fragments in my brain into a narrative, a horrific, scary narrative of how I got here.
I was able to stay conscious long enough to dial 911 from the bathroom phone in the suite. I was in and out of consciousness, recalling bits and bytes of police and paramedics arriving at my body. Some mixed memories recollecting a helicopter, but that was about it. The EMS responders sedated me and eventually en route or at the trauma center induced a coma.
.. :: ..
Two days later I was awoken from my coma in the University Medical Center. As I lie there wrapped and bandaged from the waist down, and both hands in gauze, there were many questions from detective Alex Chi and partner Sam Jones. Their inquiries were probing my brain fragments of the evening’s events. I did not have much to share other than discussing my meeting Dani at the bar. I gave them the best physical description I could recollect.
Once Alex completed his interview, he shared that when law enforcement investigated the hotel room — dusting, spraying luminol, and scanning the room for body fluids — only one human source was everywhere in the room, Victor. Yes, the room had the lingering scent of cocoa butter, essential oils. There were traces of cocaine, MDMA-ecstasy, Viagra, and a medical-grade “generic” pharmaceutical drug used for patients’ presurgery to stabilize the blood. Evidence of one human, WHAT THE FUCK? I sure as fuck did not do this to myself; self-mutilation was not in my vocabulary.
A week later, I was released from the hospital. A couple more brief visits from Detective Chi happened before I was cleared to fly back to New York. It was a life-changing mind-fucking trip to the ANUS conference; I took disability time off from my practice to get my shit and life back together. The medical healing and physical adaption to my new so-called life were well underway. The mental anguish meant visiting my therapist twice a week. About six weeks later, I got a call from Detective Chi. He was flying into New York and wanted to arrange a meeting at the local New York branch of the FBI. All I could think is; can this get more fucked? Sure, Wednesday at 10 am, I’ll be there.
.. :: ..
Wednesday – 10 am – FBI Office
Detective Alex Chi greets me and escorts me down numerous long hallways to a conference room. As we enter the dimly lit, mildew-scented room, I see Sam Jones as well, and three other officials. Two are the FBI and the third DHS/NSA. My imagination races into overdrive; this sure seems like overkill.
“Mr. Cokesbury, please have a seat.”
Alex handles the meeting introductions before handing the discussion to a cut-n-chiseled suit guy just named Tom.
“Everything discussed in today’s meeting does not leave these walls, do you understand?”
Scared and curious as fuck I reply, “Yes, of course, I completely understand.”
Tom began, “Victor, you have been a targeted victim of the ABC Syndicate, and while we cannot tell you everything about them as their current existence is classified, we hope to share what we know, with what you experienced in hopes, we can all leave this room with answers to move forward.”
He paused for a moment, giving Victor and the room a solid glance before continuing, “Victor you mentioned Dani, and under cognitive hypnotherapy had a vision of DANI.ABC.XXY, a tattoo, I believe?”
“Correct Tom, I do believe those were some of the memories discussed with Dr. Calendar” I replied.
Tom nodded and continued,” DANI is short for Digital Autonomous Nymphomatic Ingester; the “woman” (he used air quotes) you encountered does not exist, or I should say, is not human. Dani is a highly functioning, extremely evolved AI-driven fem-bot. The ABC Syndicate feeds petabytes of data into a Watson-like supercomputer to create the ideal parameters for the mission. Skyler from DHS will go into detail.”
“Thanks, Tom,” as Skyler takes to the head of the table. “DANI was the perfectly planned muse to target Victor. ABC used massive data harvesting techniques and advanced algorithmic data intelligence techniques to create the critical biographical profile to ensnare you, Victor. Leveraging emails, calendars, and contacts from your email, it obtained the travel to Vegas itinerary and your schedule. NetFlix account details gave them incredible insight into viewing habits and the types of movies and programs that you found most entertaining. Victor, your Google surfing history gave an amazing insight into women you were pursuing online, and your porn surfing habits. DANI was molded to meet at the cross-sections of those data points. DANI was designed and architected on thousands of personal behavior patterns as perfect live bait to lure you. This is what’s known as digitally catfished.”
As Skyler finished and looked in my direction, I stumbled on my words trying to piece together a complete thought, “Excuse my French, but WHAT THE FUCK? Why? Why? Why Me? Why with millions of men was I targeted? Who the fuck is the ABC Syndicate? What do they want? … again, sorry, this is just overwhelming, and the impact on my quality of life is insane!”
Tom attempts to reel it back in, “Victor, stop for a moment. Take a long deep breath. Why do you ask? Why me, seemingly insignificant me, snared by the ABC Syndicate?” Tom continues, “Victor, do you want the answer, do you think you can handle the answer? I don’t think you can handle the truth.”
“YES! I need to know the truth; I can’t be more broken than as I sit here before you!” I exclaim.
Tom retorts, “Frankie, tell Mr. Cokesbury the answer to his lingering why.” ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
… end of part two …
Vegas – Revisited – Conclusion
“Thank you, Tom” Frankie begins, “Mr. Cokesbury, my name is Frankie Smith of the FBI BAU (Behavioral Analysis Unit), and I am here to tell you the answer to your nagging question, despite the painful truths revealed here today.”
“Mr. Cokesbury, while you are feeling like a victim, this hideous act performed by the ABC Syndicate was targeted and devised as vigilant retribution. While this country has laws, courts, and judges, sometimes they do not bring the justice victims are looking for. I am not here to judge you today.”
As Frankie makes eye contact, I am attentively locked on every word.
Frankie continues, “ABC took these actions on behalf of women everywhere. Victor, you have a long history of being a sexual deviant and predator of women. While all prior charges brought against you have been dismissed or settled out of court, the ABC Syndicate is an underground movement that works outside the law. The fabric of our society and organizations like the ABC are taking extreme measures when they feel the government justice system has failed.”
My heart, head, and body are completely drained as denial fades to guilt and shame.
“They took these extreme, irreversible measures of stripping you of your sexuality to stop what they feel are unacceptable, misogynistic, predator behaviors toward women. Without sexual organs and testosterone, they believe they have ultimately fixed the issue that the judicial system could not, by neutering you like a dog.”
“Mr. Cokesbury, do you mind rolling up your shirt sleeves?” Frankie asks.
I rolled up my sleeves as Frankie takes out a UV light.
“Tom, can you kill the lights?”
As the room fades to black, the invisible tattoo on my arm was all we could see …
#enough #metoonomore #sexualpredator
¯.\_(ツ)_/¯ Notes from the Author:
The goal of this short story is to take the reader on an extreme roller coaster of emotions and feelings in a condensed window, so condensed that your brain doesn’t always have time to process the emotion into feeling, much like the roller coaster at a theme park. There is no time to think about and fully process the prior plot device and emotion before being thrown into the next literary twist.
Robert Plutchik’s (modern accepted psychology) theory says that the eight basic emotions are:
- Fear, Anger, Sadness, Joy, Disgust, Surprise, Trust, Anticipation
The other personal goal was heavy usage of dialogue to carry the story. Typically dialogue is a mechanic I steer clear of, self-criticizing that I am no good at it. This piece was to rip off the fear Band-Aid and go for it.
By the close of section one, the reader has been warned how scary the coaster ride is going to be. They have opted to ride the ride anyway. Section one ends after the first roller coaster has made a few sharp quick turns, and has climbed to the precipice, now at the top looking out over the valley and drop below, we cut scene.
Section two brings the reader down from the peak at 90mph, wind in their hair entering a double loop, and a corkscrew. But yet the ride is not complete.
Section three is the final oh shit part of the ride. In the end, they are white as a sheet as they have just experienced the craziest 5 pages possible. Some will want to ride again; others will self-actualize that was not for them and queue for the merry-go-round. Either way, it appeals and appalls to different reader segments.