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Jason Rimbaud

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  1. Jason Rimbaud
    More of A Few More Sentences
    It was a place like no other he had ever seen before. It was dark and light, seamless and joined all around him with no clear ending or beginning. Existing at the same time, hot and cold, black and white, a place where time didn't seem to hold stable, where time stopped or slowed depending on it's own whim. There was no sensation in this void, only a feeling of being. For the longest time, he didn't think or even seem to be aware of his surroundings. He couldn't remember coming to this place, only that he had been here forever. What he was before didn't matter now, only what he was. And he was alone for the first time, all alone in this void.
    His conscience mind drifted like the wind, going through his memories at a rapid rate. He was astonished at what his mind would linger on. Events that seemed small when they happened, his mind dwelled on them for the longest period of time. And yet, the events that were huge and self-changing, his mind briefly paused before continuing on it's journey. A journey that he wasn't in control of, but merely like a passenger on a cross-country train ride. A bystander of his memory's every whim.
    He wasn't aware of when it stopped, or when he awoke to an empty room. It was sudden, he was there and sitting alone in a chair. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the strange sights and sounds. It looked to be a circular room about twenty feet across, and all around him was darkness. Not a darkness that he could see, no, not this darkness. It was more like a darkness he could feel in the depth of his soul.
    Suddenly, a loud noise began echoing around the room. A single beat that reminded him of a heartbeat, a wounded sound that seemed to be faltering with each passing moment. His nostrils filled with a smell, a smell that he could only associate with death. It filled his nostrils, causing him to gag with each ragged breath.
    Yet it was the sound of his own breathing that brought him to his senses.
    'Where am I?' he thought.
    Standing up, he looked around, trying to find a door, something to tell him where he was being held. But the room was empty except for the chair he had awakened in. Standing up, he walked around the room, finally making his way back to the chair in the center and sat down.
    "Where am I? Is anyone there?" He shouted out.
    But there was no answer. He didn't know how long he sat there in that chair, but it seemed like days. He had all but given up hope that he would ever find out where he was. He had accepted the fact that he was going to die in this room...alone.
    Yet, finally, out of the darkness, a voice said, "I've been waiting for you, welcome, Scott Taylor."
    "Who are you?" Scott managed to stammer out.
    Looking around the room, he tried to find the speaker, but the room was empty save for that blasted chair.
    "Who I am is not the question." The voice countered. "But who are you?"
    Turning to face the direction of the voice, Scott saw a cloaked figure standing in the center of the room. He took a hesitant step towards the figure but stopped, and said, "What do you mean? You know me? You said my name."
    "Yes."
    "Who are you?" Scott asked. "What am I doing here? Am I dead?"
    "Questions that need answers, every one. Questions that I might answer, but for now, answer mine. Who are you?"
    "Stop it, what is this place?" Scott demanded, approaching the figure.
    But once he was two steps away from the figure, it vanished before his eyes. But he heard this statement as the figure disappeared, "When you are ready, you will know."
    Running to the center of the room, he called out, "Wait! Don't go. Where am I?"
    But before he finished, the room dissolved and became a narrow corridor that seemed to go on forever. Looking in both directions, he pondered what path to take. Suddenly, in front of his eyes, a sign appeared. Taking a deep breath, he studied the sign. It was an average ordinary sign, one arrow pointed one way, with a single word, 'Beginning'. And another arrow pointed the opposite direction and read, 'Confusion'.
    "My god, where am I?" Scott pleaded to the darkness, sinking to his knees, and hugging himself tightly.
    "Choose." The voice thundered inside his mind.
    Reeling back in fear, he backpedaled across the corridor, running into the wall. Even as the voice kept repeating its cryptic instructions.
    "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" Scott screamed, pleading with the voice inside his head.
    "Choose." The voice repeated, this time harshly.
    Scott started running down the hall, in his haste forgetting which path he fled down. He ran for what seemed like days, his body racked with pain, his throat burning from lack of water, his body drenched in sweat. And finally, the end was in sight. A bright light, intense and burning, stopped his mindless run.
    Walking out of the tunnel, he entered a house. Suddenly and quite unexpectantly, his senses were overloaded. He knew this house, that smell of leather furniture mixed with cheap pipe tobacco. He had smelled that for over half his life.
    "Welcome home Scott, you chose wisely."
    Startled, Scott turned his head and saw the figure standing next to him. He tried to look beneath the hood that veiled the figures face, but failed. It was just too dark. "How's this possible?" He asked in wonder, staring at his parents as they sat in the den reading different parts of the evening news.
    "Everything is possible. I've been waiting for a long time to get you here. So, now, it begins."
    "Who are you?" Scott begged, reaching out in his desire to know the figure under the cloak.
    Turning to look directly at him, the figure replied, "Whom do you want me to be?"
    Scott stammered, disbelief on his face. He asked, "Roy?"
    The figure dissolved, and in its place, stood Scott's long lost cousin, Roy.
    Backing away from the figure that had stolen his cousin's face, he yelled out, "You can't be here, you're dead."
    "No." The figure/Roy said in a sad voice. "You keep me alive."
    Falling to the floor, Scott cried out in pain. His fragile mind couldn't comprehend these circumstances. Laying on the floor, he began murmuring to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.
    "There is much work to be done."
    "No!" Scott screamed, clawing at his eyes. Trying anything to block the vision of his long lost cousin from his sight.
    His scream was still echoing in the void as his surrounding changed and once again, he was back in the circular room with that damned chair. For an eternity it seemed that he screamed. When he was out of breath, he slowly looked around. Standing off to one side, his cousin stood, staring at him with a burning intensity in his eyes. Again he heard that sound. It sounded like a heartbeat, but it was getting fainter with each passing second. He stammered, "How is this possible? Am I in hell?"
    His cousin, laughed out loudly for a few minutes before saying, "Hell? You've been in hell for seven years. Not only do you live in hell, but you put hell into your body on a daily basis."
    "What?"
    Gliding over to where he was hunched down on his knees, Roy grabbed his arm and showed him the track marks that covered his arm. "I never thought you would turn into a junkie. You were always better than that. Better than this."
    "How do you know about that? You're dead."
    "I know everything about you," Roy asked seriously. Adding, "And who says I'm dead."
    "I saw you die." Scott yelled out. "You died in my fucking arms."
    Roy laughed. "If I'm dead, how is it that I can do this?"
    Roy punched him in the face, causing the confused boy to fall backwards onto his back.
    "You hit me!" Scott screamed, a stunned look on his face. "Why?"
    Rushing over to where he lay, Roy sat on his chest, preventing the boy from getting up. Saying, "Yes I did. You know better than to do that. We made a pact, remember? No matter what happened, we'd never do that. You broke that promise." With each word Roy spoke, he punched Scott in the face.
    "You said we would be together forever. You lied to me." Scott screamed out, trying to block the blows raining down on his head and face.
    "I fucking died," Roy screamed.
    "And it was all my fault," Scott replied, breaking down in tears.
    Standing up, Roy reached down and hauled his bleeding cousin to his feet. "It was not your fault. It was no one's fault."
    "No!" Scott denied, blood pouring from his face and running into his eyes.
    The sound of the heartbeat growing fainter still.
    Roy's face saddened at the denial of his cousin. As he began saying something, his face dissolved again and the figure with the dark cloak returned.
    "Wait, come back." Scott pleaded. But it was too late, Roy was gone.
    THe figure spoke, "Who are you?"
    "Fuck you!" Scott screamed. "I'm sick of this, I want to go home."
    "Home." The figure said. "Do you remember home?"
    Scott stopped in mid-sentence. Did he remember home? It had been years since he had been back there. But the memories came flooding back. He said, "Yes, and I hated it. My parents treated me like shit."
    "Then why do you want to return there?" The figure asked.
    "I don't know..."
    "Yes, you do." The figure argued, approaching Scott. Reaching out a cloaked arm, he grabbed Scott's head and whispered, "Remember."
    Scott started to shake and convulse, his memories returning un-aided. Memories of his father, picking him up and carrying him to bed when he was just a little boy. He could see the love in his father's eyes as he tucked the half-asleep boy safely into his bed. He could feel his father's lips on his forehead and a deep voice whispering that he loved his only son.
    He remembered his mother singing him to sleep. He remembered the way she would wash away the blood from his scrapes and the way she would kiss away the pain. He remembered the way she would stop doing the dishes or whatever she was doing just to ask him how his day went. He remembered the times his mother would get up in the middle of the night to fetch a drink of water for her scared little boy. Memories upon memories of the selfless sacrifices that both his parents made for their only son. A son they loved so fiercely and unconditionally. He couldn't deny the love he saw in their eyes.
    Trying to fight the memories, he screamed out, "No! They hated me."'
    "They loved you," The figure countered, drawing out more memories.
    Trying to block out the images, Scott screamed, "Love is a lie. They never loved me, love doesn't exist. They hated me and they stopped talking to me because I killed Roy."
    The heartbeat grew fainter.
    "You stopped talking to them." The figure said, taking a step towards Scott. "You pulled back, it was you. Never them."
    "No! They blamed me for his death. You don't know, I was there. YOu're twisting it all around."
    Pulling Scott to his feet, the figure stood face to face and said, "So was I."
    Scott reached for the hood and threw it back. HIs eyes widened as he saw for the first time behind the mask. He screamed out in horror as he realized he was staring into his own face.
    The heartbeat grew slower, fainter, until finally there was silence. It had stopped beating entirely.
    Scott lay on the floor clutching his chest and gasping for air. He knew, he could feel it, that any breath could be his last. He tried to get to his knees but the pain became to intense. He stopped struggling and gave up as he collapsed on the floor, staring up into his own face.
    The figure in black, his other self, looked down in comtempt as he raised his hand in a silent plea for help. The figure said, "Oh, are you in pain? All ready to give up?"
    "Help me!" Scott pleaded, turning away from his other self.
    "There you go again, running away. Always afraid aren't you, never willling to face the truth."
    "Help me, I'm dying." Scott begged.
    "Help you? Why should I?" The figure stated, laughing loudly. "When you won't even help yourself."
    "I am you." Scott said, his voice a whisper. "You are me, if I die, you die."
    "Really," The figure said. "Maybe that's for the best. You don't even know who you are. You are pathetic, complaining about your problems, no one loves me, no one cares. Boo hoo, poor little Scott," The figure now mocking the dying boy.
    Grabbing the figures arm, Scott tried to pull himself upright. But his fingers slipped, he was too weak. He said, "Help me."
    Even as he argued with his mirror image, he could hear someone speaking to him, though it sounded far away. It sounded just like Garet's voice and he was...Scott couldn't make out what his friend was trying to say.
    "Do you hear that?" The figure said, cocking his head to one side. "Do you hear what you are doing to your friends back there?"
    "I can't understand you," Scott shouted out to Garet. "What are you saying?"
    "He's yelling at you because you gave up." The figure said, laughing. "Your body is dying in that bed, and all you can do is lay on the floor."
    "I don't want to die." Scott said, staring at his mirror self.
    "Why not? Love does not exist. Nothing is ever good enough. Why not just lay down and die." The figure countered. "Get it over with."
    "I don't want to die," Scott spat out. "I'm scared."
    "Finally." The figure said, taking a step back. "You admit it."
    "What?" Scott asked, trying again to sit up.
    "You admit it, you are scared. Do you know that out there," The figure said, waving his arm, "Garet is scared because he loves you."
    "No." Scott denied, shaking his head.
    "Yes, he does. Listen to him, he's telling you in so many different ways." The figure said, bringing his hand to his ear. "He's begging you not to die, he loves you, just like your parents do."
    "NO!"
    "Just like Shelia does."
    "NO!"
    "Just like I do."
    "How can you love yourself?" Scott demanded, clutching his chest in pain.
    "Because, that is the only way you can exist." The figure said, his voice filled with sadness. "You are me, and I am you. I am everything that you used to be, everything you wanted to be, and I am everything that you are running away from right now."
    "I'm not running away," Scott said in between gasps for breaths. "I"m right here along side you."
    "You left me a long time ago, but I never forgot what we used to have." His other self pleaded. "Just stop running."
    "What am I running from?" Scott begged, his breaths a bit stronger than before, the pain a bit softer.
    His cousin, Roy, appeared next to the two Scott's and whispered, "From me."
    "NO!" Scott yelled. "Never from you."
    "And from me," His other self stated in a gentle voice.
    For the first time, Scott really looked at the figure that had his face. It was his, but it wasn't. Even though the face had a sad look, the eyes were so bright, full of life. Not like the stormy eyes he normally saw in the mirror. His face wasn't the same either, it was more youthful. He realized he was seeing himself long ago. Long before the drugs, before the guilt, before the death of his cousin.
    His eyse shifted to his cousin's face. Roy looked the same as the day he died. Scott asked, "How can you be here?"
    "You won't let me go," Roy said sadly. "You cornered me off in your mind, you won't let me die. You can't find peace until you forgive yourself."
    "I can't, I love you," Scott cried, the tears streaming down his face. "It's all my fault."
    "No," his other self shouted. "It was not your fault, it was not God's fault, it was just bad luck."
    "It was my time," Roy said, reaching out to the tortured boy. "Let me go, I don't blame you. I forgive you."
    Scott broke down and cried. This was not sad tears but more tears of acceptance. His breaths became harder, crashing into him, threatening to swallow and consume him. He grabbed out to Roy, like he was the only thing that could save him.
    Roy looked down and said, "Let me go."
    Scott's mirror self said, "If you want to finally be free, just let go."
    Scott held onto his cousin, crying as the weight of guilt pressed him down. His heart felt like it would burst from the pain that he had put himself through. HIs mind ached from the emotional turmoil that had racked his spirit for so many years. The pain in his chest returned, and somehow, he knew that he was dying. And he was tired of feeling all this pain, all this guilt. He wanted to finally be free of it all. So he did something he had never done before. He squeezed Roy tightly one last time, and just let go.
    As Roy began to fade away, Scott heard him say, "I don't blame you, and I will always love."
    His other self grabbed him, hugging him close until they were touching every inch of their bodies. And yet his other self squeezed even tighter until Scott felt the two bodies begin to merge. At first he fought this sensation, but finally he surrendered to that part of him that was everything good and pure and right. His mind exploded with forgotten feelings of love that he had run so hard to escape. His heart stopped hurting and his breathing returned to normal as he embraced what he had fought so long to deny.
    And then there was only one Scott.
    As the darkness slowly dissolved into pure light, and as he passed the point of no return, Scott heard a voice whisper, "Finally, it's over."
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    The Wheel of Time: A Rambling, Digression Filled Review
    By: A Fan of the Books
    So somewhere & somewhen, I started replying in a Wheel of Time: The Series thread and realized after a few pages that it was way too long to post in a thread. Plus it was filled with colorful metaphors, talks of naughty bits, and generally senseless ramblings that I decided about that time for a new Blog Entry by the amazing Jason Rimbaud. Or is that the absent Rimbaud? Doesn’t matter.
    But before I start to bore you with my thoughts about a show that has been finished for almost three months, let’s go back in time. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But definitely in the realm of times.
    The year was 1993, this little freckled-faced boy, who was filled with hopes and aspirations of one day becoming a writer of fiction, wandered into a magical place called Borders in Harrisburg Pennsylvania. 
    For those of you too young to remember just what the hell is a Borders, I’ll tell you. And again, I’m not saying this is true in all places and also times, I’m just saying what I knew to be true back in 93’. 
    Borders was a place that if you entered the store at a particular time, and you went up the long escalator to the second floor, and turned left and went straight to the back corner of the store. You would find one of the biggest restrooms you have ever seen in your life. And if you went into that restroom, you would first see a row of sinks, eight of them, then a wall of hand dryers, then if you continued walking around the pony wall, you would find a row of a thousand stalls, seriously there were a billion stalls in that restroom. 
    And like I said, if you were to walk into that bathroom at a particular time, and walked around that pony wall, and enter the very last stall on the right, then you might be able to get a blowjob from a random stranger. Who I might add, would refuse to look at you much less talk to you after the deed was completed and you accidentally ran into him perusing the rows and also rows of books.
    No my friend, we didn’t have hook-up apps like Jack’d & Grindr where we could see the photos of the person before we hooked up. Or read a profile detailing what they were into and what they wanted to do. 
    Nope, we had to do it the old fashion way. Sit patiently in a stall, sometimes hours before we finally got that wonderful signal, shove our penis into a hole in the wall, and pray beyond hope that it was at least a halfway decent looking guy. The times that ended up happening were few and very, very, very, very far between.
    So that is Borders kids, you don’t know what you were missing out on. Complete anonymous sex with older men, whether you liked that or not. That was the option back in those days.
    So there I was, a young man filled with testosterone and a full head of hair, perusing the rows of books waiting to see if anyone entered that magical place. As it happened, while I was waiting for something exciting to happen, I noticed a display of books. This display of books was in the perfect eye line of the entrance to the restroom. 
    I’m sure you’ve seen those displays, normally a huge cardboard placard of the cover of the book, with maybe a few reviews of the book, and the title. 
    And there it was, this large placard, saying coming this fall, The Fires of Heaven by Robert Jordan. And the cover is rather plain, just a man standing in the middle of what looks like a courtyard wearing a red coat, with orange hair. But in the background was a man standing there with a staff slung over one shoulder and a wide brim hat. This was the image I was intrigued by. Who was that man in the wide brim hat?
    Keeping one eye on the entrance to the restroom, I quickly realized that The Fires of Heaven was the fifth book in this epic fantasy series. I knew that because they had the first four books on the table under the placard, and being somewhat intelligent, I surmised that these were the first four books of the series. 
    And the rumor was back then, that this was going to be the final book of the series. Who would attempt to write a ten plus book series of fantasy. 
    I usually never want to start a series until it is complete, as I hate waiting for the new book to come out. And kids, if you thought waiting a week for a new episode of your favorite TV show, then try waiting two years or more for the next installment. That is patience.
    And if you really want to talk about patience, it took me another ten years before I got the ending I so wanted from that long ago day of sloppy blowjobs and cover art. Chew on that patience I displayed.
    Though I went to Borders that day for a quick, sloppy blowjob from a random stranger in the restroom, I picked up the first book of the series and decided to read a few pages while I waited for someone to go into the bathroom.
    Now I'm going to be honest here, I’d like to say that all thoughts of strange men sucking me off left my future bald head upon reading that first prologue of Eye of the World. But that’s not true, I ended up with a somewhat younger man than normal on the receiving end of my…bellend. But that’s another story.
    I think I finished all eight hundred or so pages in a few days of the Eye of the World and immediately went back to that Borders, not for a blowjob but to buy the next book in the series. Over the next few weeks I devoured all four books and couldn’t wait for the fifth and final book to come out. 
    Being a massive fan of the books that I am, and not that fan that thinks the books are perfect, I am fully aware that the first three books are somewhat a slogfest and let's not talk about eight, nine, and ten. But I loved the storyline and had the biggest crush on Mat, the one who turned out to be the figure in the wide brim hat. 
    I was stoked that the Wheel of Time would finally be getting the live action treatment from Amazon Studios. And once I saw the trailer, I knew it was going to be different then the books for a multitude of reasons.
    The average book length, not dick length, is eight hundred pages. That’s crazy long. And there is no way in hell they could do one book per season. 
    Who would expect a show to last 14 seasons anyway.
    We know that Robert Jordan loved describing the most mundane things in finite detail and that's not even discussing his fascination with ladies dresses and hairstyles. The books have a lot of filler that could be cut and never missed.
    By the way, how does one actually go about sniffing in disgust or anger? The female characters are always sniffing, pulling their hair (though I have noticed a lot lately that women constantly stroke their hair in public like a boy scratches around his crotch) and looking disapprovingly at every male they see.
    The story itself takes place over a period of three years. ( I had to look that up as I thought the story took place over a much longer period of years. That means Rand was only 19 when…) No spoilers. So 14 seasons would age the characters out.
    The amount of time spent traveling from one place to another is so time consuming that I know they would have to keep the story moving at a faster pace. So avoiding certain places and events only makes sense.
    There are thousands of characters in these books and many of them have speaking parts, so combining several characters into one or omitting them completely is understandable. 
    My husband, “N”, who does not offer blowjobs in the restrooms…anymore, has no experience with the book series. Except that he constantly tells me to throw out my WOT books because they are cluttering up the bookcase and he can’t put up more photos of us sans restrooms.
    “N” is a huge fan of fantasy & Sci-Fi, so he was all in after watching the trailer. And after watching the first three episodes, he was hooked. But then became rather pissed off because Amazon decided to drop a new episode weekly instead of all at once. He made me…physically threatened my life if I were to watch them without him.
    I’m sure none of you know this, but I am a huge fan of Survivor. Yes, that reality show that has been on the air for twenty years. Don’t judge me, I had to get blowjobs in restrooms by random strangers when I was young, I don’t know any better. 
    “N” also likes Survivor, but can’t stand waiting for the new weekly episode to drop, so I watch it first, and then once it's all released, then he will binge it in like three days. 
    That is what he made me promise to do, wait until it's all released and then watch it with him all in one night. And I don’t like watching TV like that. I like to digest what I just watched and think about it for a week before dipping my bald head back into the experience.
    So on Christmas Eve we snuggled in bed, I hate watching TV in bed, and binged the remaining five episodes.  
    “N” loved it. He liked the characters, the cinematography, the special effects, the magic system, and of course, the Trollocs. And I will agree, the first six episodes look fantastic. I love that they are filming in a location that is unknown to most American audiences. So it looked like a fantasy world. And yes there are CGI touches to things, but they built a lot of actual set pieces in the amazing landscape that is Czech Republic, in Prague. 
    He loved the mystery that is, which one of them is the Dragon Reborn. I actually enjoyed watching it with him in bed as he went back and forth. It is Matt, oh wait, it has to be Perrin, no I think it is Egwene. I’m sure it's Perrin, Holy Shit! It's Rand, I knew. 
    And he asked me questions about the books, which I refused to answer. He begged me to tell him what happened next, and all I can say, I don’t know, they changed so much I have no clue. Then he offered me blowjobs, not in a restroom much to my chagrin, and when I still didn’t acquiesce to his demands he cut me off from sex completely. So back to Borders…Wait, Borders are no more. Balls.
    “N” didn’t know what they had changed, made up, omitted, or combined into single characters. All he knew is he loved the drama, the mystery, the scariness of the Whitecloaks. Who I must admit, are even more terrifying than in the books. 
    So “N” didn’t understand when Tam first drew the Heron sword, I took a sharp intake of breath. And grinned from ear to ear when Morgaine and Lan were kicking Trolloc ass in the Two Rivers. The encounter Perrin had with the wolves in the forest only fueled his theory that Perrin was the Dragon Reborn, I only smiled. When the camera focuses in on the dagger, I yelled something out, but he didn’t understand why. 
    I got so excited when I first saw Thom in the Inn telling us the tale of the Dragon Reborn. And when he was killed by the Fade, I inwardly smiled as I am rather certain that isn’t the last time we see Thom. Or when I first saw a red haired Aiel in the cage, I giggled at the implication and wanted to know how they would portray the best fighters in the world. Nor did I say aloud, what the hell is that? When the Ogier first arrives talking to Rand in the Inn. 
    Or why I starting yelling, thats what I’m fucking talk about, when the Maiden of the Spear was on that snowy mountain top and I saw she was pregnant. Though I did remain rather silent as I watched in awe as she proceeded to take out all those soldiers. But I did get to see his reaction when he realized that the soldier was Tam and that badass fighter was Rand’s mother.
    And much like him, in a way it was a new story for me as well. I knew and understood the changes they had to make. And actually liked that they changed the age of all the lead characters. Or making the show way darker than the novels. Bloodier than Jordan would ever dare dream. And lets not forget boobies, there are boobies and butts everywhere. And maybe even a hint of ball bag, Lan’s ball bag. 
    Nudity is looked up as taboo in the Two Rivers, but throughout the rest of the books, there are boobies flooping around everywhere. And lest we forget, Rand and Egwene have been doing the nasty for a while. And Perrin knocked up some chick before slicing her open like a ripe Cantaloupe. Lan and Nynaeve knocking boots, that didn’t happen until book 10 or something. Moiraine being all lipstick to Siuan butch amazingness. Everyone is fucking,
    From the very beginning, which I do think was a bad cold open for Wheel of Times, I knew this wasn’t Robert Jordan’s Wheel of TIme anymore. And I was completely okay with that. If the concept is that everything has happened before, and these people are constantly being re-born into different ages, then this is just a different version of events that happened a long time ago in our future. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. 
    So in the books, the Whitecloaks were dangerous and very militaristic, but damn, what a way to introduce them. That scene was deliciously twisted and just the way I imagined those zealots to behave. I think his fascination on Perrin and Egwene wasn’t really explained well, there were several leaps of logic in why he suspected them to be from the White Tower. But, plot, I understand.
    I still would like to ask the showrunner why he spent almost an entire episode of only an eight episode season on an Aes Sedi and her Warder. That actually made me angry and wish I was back in that cold restroom with strangers sucking on my weiner. Lan didn’t need to thump his chest, in the books he was more reserved and rarely showed emotion. I thought it was so out of character and still don’t understand why they felt this deserved an entire episode. It didn’t further the main story, nor did it really tell much about the White Tower and the Sisters. 
    Let's talk about the magic system and its live action depiction. I absolutely loved how they showed the one power. And yes I’ve read the naysayers talk about how they don’t go into detail about wielding the One Power on the show and casual viewers don’t appreciate the toll it takes on the user. Fuck you, visually, it works. Not everyone bones up about magic systems and how they work. And the wisps of smoke, gray for the Sisters and inky black for the men, I thought really captured the yen and yang of it all. 
    And did the Whitecloaks put a beat down on the Tinkers, probably my least favorite groups in the entire series. The Way of the Leaf reminds me of vegetarians and I like my meat! (that's a long way to go for a dick joke, but I’ll allow it).
    We got to see a truly badass false dragon kill everyone and Nynaeve dropping the One Power bomb that healed everyone. That was epic in all the right places. I am finding this Nynaeve more tolerable than in the books. In this weaving of the Wheel, I dislike Egwene more, which I find distasteful. In the books, Nynaeve is the worst depiction of a female character I have ever read, watched, dreamed about in all the weavings of the Wheel. EVER.
    The actress who plays Egwene is simply amazing. And with the exception of Mat, who I didn’t think captured the essence of what Mat was, the rest of them are really good in their roles across the board. But Moiraine steals the show, she is perfect in every way and her scene where she fucks her “pillowfriend”, is amazing. Great acting. I didn’t find a weak actor in the bunch, just a stellar job of casting. 
    We get to see a scene from book 3, when the Two Rivers folk are riding together and start singing and then Moiraine tells the story of Mantheran, I got chills. It made me want to go join in the fight against fades, trollocs, the dark one, and Borders restroom trolls. 
    The last two episodes were my least favorite. And not just because they had changed so much of the story that I was literally lost a few times on who these people were. But mostly because you could tell that Covid restrictions really hit them hard. Set pieces were smaller, probably to disguise they had less extras than before. Unfinished special effects, and one of their main characters refusing to come back to finish the show in the poorly cast Mat.
    How much rewriting do you think they had to do to cover the absence of Mat in the final two episodes? Did I mention the horrible special effects in the last battle with the Trollocs? And why did they only send eight people to defend the gap against hordes of Trollocs anyway? Covid.
    I can forgive the limitations of the last two episodes. I also forgive the rushed ending as Amazon refused to move the premiere date to give them more time, so yes, it wasn’t perfect. 
    But I can’t forgive the way they ended the season. Three untrained Aes Sedi being led by a too weak to serve accepted, doesn’t matter she was tower trained, took out thousands of trollocs. And yes the idea was to say that Nynaeve and Egwene were that strong in the One Power, that even an accepted could destroy everything and everyone being linked in a circle. 
    Rand was the one in the books that appeared in the sky above the gap and saved everyone, thus proclaiming himself the Dragon Reborn. But they had to have a scene where Egwene saves Nynaeve’s life. Doesn’t matter that throughout the entire book series, Egwene was known to be weak in healing. Nor does anywhere in the books show that much destruction can be had without the aid of enhancement items. It really left a sour taste in my mouth.
    And before you say, “They made it all girl power because of the times and the me too movement. All males are stupid and useless without a woman telling them what to do”. I only have to ask one question, did you read the fucking book? Robert Jordan clearly wrote that into the story thirty years ago. Every single female character is written from a view of power, except for Min. They always know what to do and think men are stupid. Robert Jordan had either a very high opinion of women or thought they were all horrible, as every female character is written the same way. 
    So should you watch this show…like I said in that restroom stall all those years ago…yes, yes, yes!
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Eight
    By: Jason R.
    After I hit the water, my erection pretty much went south fast. I believe it would be safe to say that my genitals had retreated inside my body due to the chilly water. But as we touched and grappled in the water, my genitals decided to return with a vengeance, and from the look in Greg?s eyes, so did his.
    He had gotten behind me and was trying to force my head underwater when I realized I felt something poking me in the lower back. I can honestly tell you that sensation sent chills down my spine. The more I struggled, the harder he poked. It wasn?t long before all pretence of wrestling stopped and we just enjoyed this new experience.
    He grabbed hold of my shoulders and turned me around so we were facing one another. Our bodies smacked together as he pulled me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pull him just as tightly into me. Staring into his eyes, I began to grind myself into him, time stood still in that moment. One of his hands reached behind me and started caressing my lower back, stopping just inches from my backside.
    As we touched each other, our eyes were locked in a frozen moment there in the moonlight. And I saw something in those beautiful eyes I?m still searching for to this day to duplicate. Unconditional love and an unwavering devotion backed by all the youthful lust he possessed.
    It was nothing short of magical. All my shyness and all my fear vanished in that single moment. I pressed my lips to his and we shared the first of many kisses. But none could ever compare to that first kiss in the moonlight. It wasn?t a shy kiss, a timid peck or a kiss fill with uncertainty. It was full of passion, a kiss loaded with certainty and the belief that this was right on every level despite what others might say. It was a kiss that transcended all barriers of religion, all thoughts of normal male behavior. All inhibitions of right or wrong were thrown to the wind and flew up to the moonlight that bathed us.
    Can a kiss mean so much? Maybe if you don?t believe you haven?t found the right person or maybe I?m a hopeless romantic that refuses to live in reality. I don?t know anything about that but I do know that I became complete in that one kiss. And if it doesn?t happen to everyone then I count myself lucky and fortunate to have it happen to me even if it was all in my head.
    The kiss could?ve lasted for years and we never would?ve known the difference. But we found ourselves kneeling down on the edge of that lake. Water dripped down our bodies, the shimmer of the droplets a plethora of moonbeams on our skin. Facing one another, we continued that magical kiss, our hands explored every inch of skin. And when his hand found me, I shuddered.
    From his continued touching, I started to convulse and one of the most powerful orgasms I?ve ever had exploded out of my body, leaving me breathless and filled with wonder. Once I regained some control and after my body slowed to only slight tremors, I returned the favor as best as I could. It wasn?t long before his eyes rolled back into his head and he thrust into my hand one final time. Groaning louder than I could ever imagine, he collapsed into my shoulder. And we knelt there, holding each other under the light of the moon.
    I?ll never forget that first time of exploration under the moonlight. I eventually lost my virginity a year after that first encounter. I was lucky my first time was with someone I truly loved. And when I took his virginity, we shared something special that so many people lose out on.
    Greg and I became so much more that night we went swimming in the moonlight. I guess I would define him as my soul mate, the other half of my incomplete soul. That day he came into my life, I found my way, my North star that always pointed me in the right direction. It was something we shared and enjoyed together until his untimely death at the age of seventeen.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    A Few More Sentences
    The house was dark and at first glance he didn't think Scott was there though his car was parked in the garage. But upon closer inspection, he saw the outline of the blond sitting out on the balcony staring up into the night sky. He didn't think he could cry anymore, but the sight of his boyfriend caused the tears to once again cascade down his cheeks. Willing the tears to stop, he wiped them away with the back of his hand and went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Filling up a glass, he walked outside and leaned against the rail.
    He could feel Scott's eyes on him, boring a hole in his back. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank deeply, the clear liquid falling down the sides of his mouth.
    Scott spoke, "That isn't going to help you know."
    Spinning around, his blue eyes filled with anger, he said, "Fuck you."
    "It's your stomach," Scott said, shrugging leaning back further into the chair. The darkness hiding the pain in his eyes.
    Justin threw the glass out into the night, a few moments later he heard the sounds of the glass shattering somewhere below. He asked, "What did I do wrong?"
    "Nothing," Scott said in a quiet voice.
    Throwing his hands in the air, Justin asked, "Is there someone else?"
    "No," Scott answered immediately, surprised by the certainity of his voice. "There could never be anyone else but you."
    "Then why?" Justin asked, sinking to his knees in front of the chair, his hands clutching Scott's knees tightly. "Don't you love me?"
    Tucking his hair behind his ear, Scott caressed Justin's cheek, saying, "Of course I love you."
    "Then why did you say no?"
    Scott could not meet Justin's gaze, he looked so childlike, his eyes big and full of pain. Scott said, "It's hard to explain." His tears began falling down.
    "Tell me please," Justin begged.
    Searching for the right words, but knowing no matter which words he chose, Justin would never understand. Again he wondered if he should have just said yes. A part of him wanted to marry Justin, someday, but not like this. Not without something to offer in return. But that voice inside the back of his head urged him to tell the truth. Sighing, he stated, "Well, for one thing, I don't really believe in marriage."
    "What?" Justin asked, a confused look on his face. "What do you mean?"
    "Justin, even if I were straight, and you were a girl. I wouldn't marry you." Scott said in a soft voice. Though immediately he wished he hadn't said them like that. Justin's face darkened, his temper rising fast. Scott continued quickly, "That's not what I meant. I just don't see the point of going through a ceremony that wouldn't even be legal. I love you, you love me, can't we just leave it at that and spend the rest of our lives together? Why do people think they have to say an "I do"?"
    "It's about a commitment," Justin said, trying hard to force the anger from his voice. "It's about standing in front of a group of friends and acknowledging our love for each other."
    "Have you ever doubted my love?" Scott asked, slumping in the chair.
    "Not until tonight," Justin replied, standing up and walking back to the railing.
    "How can you say that?" Scott yelled out, standing up in his anger.
    "In front of everyone, I asked you to marry me, and you...you said no," Justin explained. "How the fuck did you think I was going to feel?"
    "Just because I don't want to marry you doesn't mean I don't love you."
    "I know, it just means you don't want any strings," Justin said, turning to face his lover. "You'll only love me on your terms, but not on mine."
    "That's bullshit, and you know it."
    "Is it?" Justin asked, his fists clenched tight. "After everything we've been through. All the bullshit that happened with Michael, all the shit that happened with your band, don't you think...you owe me...you owe me this little thing?"
    "Owe you?" Scott shouted out. "That' the problem, I feel like I owe you everything."
    That caught him by surprise and for a moment, Justin stared at him. "What?"
    "All this," Scott said, waving his arms around him. "This isn't my house, it's your house. The car I drive, even the fucking clothes I wear aren't mine. How could I marry you when I have nothing to offer?"
    Justin groaned and rolled his eyes. Everything came back to this tired argument. He said, "How many times have I told you, that what I have is yours?"
    "That's not me," Scott intoned. "I can't keep living my life on your good graces. It drives me crazy having you buy me stuff. I can't even buy a pair of shoes without first getting money from you."
    "You don't seem to have any problems getting money to go drinking," Justin spat. "Or using my money to make your fucking record."
    "That's beneath you." Scott said in a quiet voice, ignoring the tears falling down his cheeks. He turned away and headed inside. Justin followed him and grabbed his arm roughly. Scott spun around and pushed the man hard on the couch, his arm raised back, his fist closed tightly. Anger flashed in his eyes and Justin realized he had went to far. Closing his eyes, he waited for the blow to drop.
    "Damnit," Scott yelled, punching a pillow next to Justin's head. "I didn't want this to happen again." For a moment thinking back to the time he lost his temper in a herion induced rage and hit his best friend, Shelia.
    Justin stared at him, his eyes wide and filled with fear. And when Scott collapsed next to him on the couch, he breathed easy. Hearing Scott mumbling something, he reached out to touch him, yet was shocked when Scott whispered, "Don't."
    Scott stood up and headed for the front door, his shoulders slumped. Justin called out, "Where are you going?"
    "I don't know, but if I stay, I might do something neither one of us can forgive," Scott replied hoarsely.
    "Are you leaving me?" Justin asked, standing up clutching his stomach with his hands.
    Turning his head, Scott said over his shoulder, "Never you, Justin. I'm leaving me."
    Before the door shut, Justin fell back on the couch and curled up in ball. He cried for sometime until he couldn't cry anymore. After an hour, he went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Vodka.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Six
    By: Jason R.
    The first time I committed a crime was all Greg?s doing. He dared me to steal a pack of cigarettes from the local gas station, the same one he stole all the booze from. I could never refuse him, no matter what he asked of me.
    He was there when I first discovered the joy of spray painting cars in the middle of the night, his idea once again. As I look back now, everything I ever did up until I was sixteen was all because of a blonde boy named, Greg.
    ?Borrowing? the neighbor?s car one Saturday night, so we could stare at the moon at the rock query outside of town was his fault too. Another time he called me chicken.
    I think he knew I idolized him, and that I was so much putty in his hands. I believe he loved that fact. Don?t get me wrong, I wasn?t some stupid kid he dared to do crazy things. I know for a fact I was the reason he breathed, the driving force that got him out of bed each day, just for the pleasure of staring into my eyes.
    Fuck, I don?t know how we fooled everyone for so long but when we finally got caught, it was a shock to the entire neighborhood as well as the entire church body. I think a part of my parents died that day. But I?m getting ahead of myself again.
    Like I said, behind closed doors, we were very different than how we appeared in public. It was exactly two months after we first met that something wonderful happened between us. I had been begging my father and he his, to allow a sleepover at my house after Friday night service.
    It?s a strong belief in ?our? religion that a child should never go to another?s house to sleep overnight. Something along the lines that no other parent can take care of your child like you, the parent, can. I don?t know how we pulled it, but whatever the reason, they all agreed and the date was set.
    I remember time passing so slowly that night after church. It felt like years before my father stated it was time to go upstairs and get into bed. It was only ten o-clock, but Greg and I ran upstairs to my bedroom.
    Since my bed was so small, it had been decided by all that Greg would sleep on the floor at the side of my bed. An arrangement I had been looking forward to though I didn?t fully understand until much later.
    My father came in to make sure we weren?t doing anything we shouldn?t be, like wrestling or eating smuggled sweets. But we greeted him with innocent smiles and he shut the door, giving us one last word of warning, urging us to go to sleep and behave ourselves.
    This was an exciting night for me. For the first time I had someone staying over. I was so keyed up and hyper I knew I would never be able to fall asleep though I was accustom to going to bed at such an early hour.
    Greg, the proverbial night owl, never went to sleep until much later. I never understood how he did it, but he would never go to sleep before 3am each night only to wake up like clockwork at 7am rearing to go for the rest of the day. He did this the entire time I knew him, and he never seemed sleepy. Matter of fact, he had this boundless energy that drove him to always look around the corner. While me on the other hand, needed at least seven hours of sleep to function at any normal level, even to this day. Anything less and I walk around in a daze, my eyes puffy and bloodshot.
    Why was I so excited Greg was staying over? First, as an only child, I had always wanted a brother. And secondly, I had heard from other kids in school how much fun they had on sleepovers. Greg wasn?t my brother, though he was the closest thing at the time, and I was ready to experience some of this fun I had been hearing about. But lastly and most importantly, by this time, I was in love with Greg and wanted any chance I could get just to be close to him.
    I was in love with him, though I didn?t truly understand what it meant back then. I knew he made me feel like no one ever had. When I was around him, life just seemed better, and I didn?t think whether or not I was making god angry or sad. Around Greg, I became a kid, a normal average everyday kid. I wanted that feeling to last forever.
    I remember hanging my head over the edge of the bed, he had placed his makeshift pallet right next to my bed, so that his head and mine were almost touching. We remained like that for hours, whispering softly to each other, laughing and talking about everything. Around eleven-thirty, I heard my father walking down the hallway and I quickly lay down on the pillow and pretended to be asleep. And thanks to my prompting, Greg followed suit and shortly afterwards my father opened the door to make sure his charges were safe and fast asleep. We must?ve fooled him because we heard him walk down the hall and enter his bedroom. We waited for the bedroom door to shut before we resumed our early positions.
    We talked for another hour in hushed whispers before Greg really began getting restless. Suddenly he sat up, his face inches from mine and asked, You ever sneak out of the house? I couldn?t believe what he was suggesting. Even with my newfound ?rebellious streak?, I had never thought about doing such a daring and risky thing.
    What, you scared of the dark? He asked, a blank look on his face.
    I told him I wasn?t, that I just had this fear of dark places in the great outdoors. And that I was greatly afraid of my parent?s wrath and the punishment I would receive if we got caught sneaking out.
    Can you guess what that bastard did? He called me a chicken. So somehow I found myself getting dressed in the darkness and opening my bedroom window. (because he had informed me that we had to sneak out through the window, that it was a rule or something like that) He told me that he had done it many times before at his house and that running around in the dark was kind of exciting. (later on I would find out this was his first time sneaking out as well, claiming I made him reckless and it was really all my fault for the things we did together) I?ll let you decide who?s telling the truth. Who are you going to believe anyway, him or me?
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Nine
    By: Jason R.
    It was shortly after I ?borrowed? the neighbor?s car. I had stayed at Greg?s house that night, not an uncommon occurrence as our parents had long given up on trying to keep us apart. Though they did try towards the end. Maybe they suspected our friendship, maybe they could see the special bond we shared, maybe we weren?t good at hiding it as we thought. Either way, it was a night I?ll never forget.
    His room was in the basement of their house. We had proper pictures on the wall of landscapes and animals, but on the back of those innocent pictures were pictures of guys we thought were hot. When we were in the room with the door locked, we?d turn them around so we could look at them. We had a bunch of things that glowed under the cheesy black lights we had stolen from the local mall. It was our domain, the place we went to be in love. The only place that was safe for us to be ourselves.
    I remember that night so strangely. It?s all perfectly clear but I remember it happening so slowly, like a movie playing fourteen speeds too slow. Greg had been telling me about his plans for us for the millionth time. How when he turned eighteen, he would get an apartment right down the street from my house so I could sneak over and join him during the night until I turned eighteen the following year. Then we would go off to college together and never look back on the hell of our childhood. It didn?t matter which college we attended, as long as we were together and free to be the couple in public we had always been in private.
    I asked him what he wanted to do with the rest of his life after hell and his reply is still burned in my brain like the afterglow of staring into the sun. I want to live my life without fear. I never want to be afraid to seize the day. I want to live life with a passion that will take me to the moon.
    That night we fucked, hot and animalistic. We both loved to fuck and I loved fucking Greg. I wish I could say we made soft passionate love where we voiced our undying love for one another, but I can?t. We fucked like two horny teenagers, hot and sweaty. I clawed his back and he bit my tongue so hard that little piece on the underneath took over two weeks to heal.
    Around three-thirty in the morning, we finally drifted off to sleep. I lay on my back and Greg put his head on my shoulder. We fell asleep clutching tightly to one another. It was our favorite position for sleeping. At that moment and for the rest of the night, we felt like we were one body, just like our souls were joined in a perfect love.
    When Greg was sleepy, his voice got this raspy rough sound that drove me crazy. And the last thing I ever heard him say was whispered to me in this sexy voice. He leaned close and said in my ear, I can?t believe I get to hold you in my arms every night. Ever since that first night in the moonlight, I?ve been the luckiest boy in the world.
    I kissed the top of his blonde head and called him a goof ball. I was never really comfortable saying what I felt inside but I knew he knew how I felt about him. He could see it in my eyes every time I looked at him and in the tiny ways I showed him every day.
    I slept great that night, just like always when I slept with Greg. I woke up around 11am that morning and instantly knew something was wrong. I felt it in my soul, like my heart had turned cold. Greg had his arm draped over me as he lay there tightly against my back. But his arm was cold, I could feel the chill emanating from his body pressing against mine.
    I don?t remember when I realized he had died sometime in the night but I do remember screaming my soul out. All my pain, all my dreams, all my love, I screamed out until there was nothing left inside me.
    My screams brought his parents crashing through the locked door, where they found us naked in the bed. I was holding on to Greg?s lifeless body.
    It took one EMT and two policemen to pull me away from Greg?s side. In the end, three of my ribs were broke before I released the grip I had on him. The rest of the day is a blur.
    Sometime between the time they found me and when they pulled me away from him, someone had called my parents. I remember they walked over to me as I sat on Greg?s floor, still naked, staring at the bed where so many times we had made love. Where so many times we had confessed our love for each other. Where so many times we sat there, laughing and basking in the joy of just being close to one another. Where so many times we made plans to leave hell and begin our life together. A life we should?ve had from the beginning.
    That?s the day my parents kicked me out of their house and out of their lives. The day I became forever cut out of the family. And yet none of that mattered to me, only Greg mattered. My moonlight. I remember Greg?s parents picking me up and carrying me outside where they dumped me on the sidewalk, still naked. Because they couldn?t bare the idea of having a filthy queer inside their house.
    I don?t know who called him, but my Uncle Malcolm came and picked me up. He took me home with him where he wrapped me up in a warm fuzzy blanket and just held me until I couldn?t cry anymore.
    I remember showing up at the funeral and seeing that my parents hadn?t bothered to show their support. But I heard they made sure everyone in the church knew about their queer son and that Greg was my queer lover. Even going as far as telling Greg?s parents that the reason Greg had died was because he was queer.
    Greg?s parents wouldn?t look at me and sometimes I think they only showed up because they had too. It was sad, hardly anyone showed up to pay last respects for the most beautiful person that only wanted to love. My Uncle sat there beside me, supporting me in something he didn?t?couldn?t understand. But he was there.
    Five students from our High School showed up, I recognized one of them. I figured Greg must?ve known them casually from one of his classes. Because we spent all of our time together and I never had seen them before. I suspect they showed up for the excused day from school than out of any other emotion.
    That was it, my lover, my best friend, my true north, had less than a dozen people at his funeral. And I was the only one that knew him. And I was the only one that loved him.
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Four
    By: Jason R.
    From the moment I walked into the church, a feeling of dread came over me. How could I pray and worship god with this horrible secret hanging over my head? At that time, I wanted so desperately to be a good little Christian boy, and wished with every fiber of my soul that I could somehow take back that dreadful deed.
    But as the service progressed and still nothing happened to me, I began to look around at the other people in the congregation. Not a single person was looking at me funny. If they noticed me at all, they smiled and waved at me. I couldn?t believe it. They didn?t know. No one knew. And that revelation rocked my senses.
    As I looked at the other children I began to notice their faces, maybe for the first time. They looked how I must have looked just three days earlier. They were staring intently at the minister as he spoke of the evils of drinking and carousing, and they were eating it up.
    Have you ever seen an eight-year-old child completely enraptured by a message of sobriety? Believe me, it?s not a pretty sight.
    As I looked at them, a wave of confusion came over me. Were they somehow better than I was? Did my evil act segregate me from the other faithful? Was that the reason I couldn?t keep my attention on the sermon or the man speaking?
    I started squirming around in my seat. Which only caused my father to smack me and command me to pay attention.
    I tried to listen, I promise I did. But I noticed a boy on the opposite side of the church a few rows back from where I sat. I had never seen him at church before. I concluded this must have been their first visit.
    Later on I found out they had just moved into town and were happy to find a church that taught like they believed. And what a good influence the church and its members would have on their son. Boy, were they wrong about that.
    He was staring at the ceiling with this bored expression on his face. I wondered why he wasn?t behaving like the other children. Did he touch himself too? Was that the reason he wasn?t paying attention to the sermon? I didn?t know the answer but something inside of me told me I had?must find out.
    The service seemed to drag on for days but finally the minister dismissed us and I told my father I had to use the restroom. But that was a lie, my eyes were on the boy as he walked out of the church to stand on the sidewalk in front of the building.
    I followed him and watched as he leaned against one of the trees. He stood there, staring up at the star filled sky seemingly lost in his own little world. I studied him for a few moments. Was he as evil as I? Could this be the one person I could relate to after my brush with carnal knowledge? I hoped so, I felt like I needed some answers and needed them fast.
    He was this fascinating blonde that had the most unusual eyes I had ever seen or have seen since. They were blue like mine but his held a light?a fire that burned with such intensity that I felt immediately drawn like a moth to a flame. I remember thinking if I was going to burn, I was more than happy to be burned by him.
    He was shorter than I was but one year older. His body, though more muscular than my slimmer build, but he still had that layer of baby fat that anyone with half a brain could see he would grow out of it.
    He was dressed in a suit, just as I was, but the way he wore it suggested he would rather be in a pair of shorts and nothing else. His tie, which would always be this way for the rest of the time I knew him, was crooked. Like he was constantly trying to rid himself of it. And his short blonde hair looked like someone had tried to comb it, but had given up half way through. I couldn?t explain it or recognize it, but it was so intense my normally shy personality flew out the window and I walked over to him and asked him his name.
    I remember the way he looked at me after I asked my question. He took a long look, up and down my body for a few seconds, saying nothing. His gaze caused me to shift uncomfortably, like he was eyeing up a horse he was interested in purchasing. I was half surprised he didn?t make me open my mouth and show him my teeth. (though I would have just to have him near me) It was a judging gaze, gauging how to react to my forwardness or maybe to see what kind of miniature Christian I was. But after a few seconds, he spoke. My name's Greg.
    I could tell he really wasn?t interested in speaking to me but that didn?t stop me from firing questions at him in rapid succession. When I?m nervous, I tend to speak constantly. You can?t shut me up and I babble about anything and everything that pops into my mind. And boy was I babbling.
    To all my stupid questions, he would reply with the minimal amount of words required without ever asking a single question of his own. He never offered information about himself, seemingly content to half ignore me. I babbled on for a few minutes until his parents walked outside. I guess he didn?t have many friends or maybe never because they seemed to be deliriously happy that he and I were speaking. If you could call what Greg and I were doing speaking together.
    His parents asked all the questions Greg should have been asking. Like my name, where I lived, who my parents were, what school I attended, and if it was any good. They kept firing questions at me until my parents walked outside. My parents, in finding out I had made a friend of a boy that attended our church, which automatically labeled Greg as a ?good boy?, quickly invited this new family over to our house for dinner.
    That is how Greg and I found ourselves alone in my room the following Saturday night. He wasn?t the best talker at first. He was shy around those he didn?t know and wasn?t one to speak very often. Though later on I couldn?t shut him up when it was just the two of us. But I?m getting ahead of the story again aren?t I.
    Considering ?our? religion was more than strict, and there weren?t that many ?safe? toys to play with back then, we had nothing to do. So we sat there on my bed, staring at one another for the longest time.
    Even with someone as patient as Greg was, he finally got bored enough to ask me in a quiet voice what I did for fun. I had found out earlier that night that his parents had only recently found this religion. He had to give up all his toys, his friends, his video games, his TV, and other assorted activities that were so foreign to me. And he wasn?t taking the change well.
    My hopes of him being like me were dashed upon hearing this. Much like a small skiff dashed on the rocks in the middle of a storm. He wasn?t sinful like me, he didn?t touch himself in bad ways late at night. He didn?t have the answers I so desperately needed. Once again a feeling of panic washed over me.
    Most of the things he talked about, with regret in his voice, I only had small clues as to what they were but I knew I envied his experience. He had played sports, football, baseball, and soccer in his last school before the ?conversion?. I felt so sorry for him. The look on his face is one I will always remember, when he confided in me in a quiet voice. I?m not allowed to play sports anymore because of this fucking religion.
  9. Jason Rimbaud

    IDTIWLPAM

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    IDTIWLPAM
    I was pretty much depressed about the events of my Sunday night dinner with Daniel. I don't want to get into it right now because that's not the reason I'm posting tonight. But I was pretty depressed and didn't want to spend all day Monday thinking about it so I figured I might catch a movie on Monday.
    So after looking up the Movies on Yahoo, I found three movies I really wanted to see. And since I couldn't decide between the three, and I don't know of a three sided coin to let fate decide, I choose to watch all three.
    I'd first catch the 11:30 AM showing of The Bourne Ultimatum, great movie by the way. What a way to end the trilogy, great job. Afterward, I would catch the 2:30 PM showing of the last Pirate of the Caribbean movie. Kind of boring about two hours too long, but it did have its moments. Like about half-way through the movie, this guy that was sitting a few seats over from me, suddenly let out a scream and a moment later his cell phone landed in my lap. The only thing I could think of, he must've been holding his cellphone against his face, and when he received a phone call, the vibration scared the hell out of him. I handed the cell phone back to him, and watched out of the corner of my eye as he searched the seats and floor on the other side. He kept this up for a good five minutes before he found what he was looking for, his glasses that were in the other hand and that he sent flying along with his cell phone.
    That event caused my depression to disappear so after Pirate Movie was over, I went home and had a relaxing day. I never did make it to the Simpson's Movie. But as funny as I know it's going to be, it might not be able to live up to that dumbass scaring himself so bad that he threw his glasses and cellphone in opposite directions in a dark theater.
  10. Jason Rimbaud

    Something for Jason

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I've heard that you have taken offense by this blog and the entries it contains. Never think for one moment that just because I no longer live in Pennsylvania doesn't mean I still don't stay in touch with my friends. Unlike you, I don't forget about my friends. I don't walk away from my friends every time I get into a relationship.
    Did you think she wouldn't tell me about the conversation between the two of you? Did you forget that she was my friend first? Did you think I forget about her because I moved away over two years ago?
    My fragile friend, I talk to Ann every few days, which is more than I can say about you. Whenever you call her its for a favor or you need her help for something. You live twenty minutes away and I know I've seen her more recently than you. That's my Jason, always the leave me alone until I need you kind of friend.
    So your angry with me. And yet your anger is without logic or rational thought. Truly no reason you can imagine that could back up your claims of broken promises and rose colored lies. I didn't break my promise to you, I haven't told anyone about you or about us.
    I write under an assumed last name and never even mentioned yours. I did write all about Jason Squared but in all honesty, you can't think that your friends would ever read this blog on this site. Not your self-righteous little pew warmers that populate your life now, they would never be caught dead on a gay site.
    Though if you look at the statistics, one male in every ten is gay. Maybe one of your Republican friends is reading this blog, but on the bright side, they'd never have the balls to confront you about anything they'd read inside these pages. That would lead to way to many questions about why they were browsing on Awesome Dude.
    So you can't be angry with me for relaying stories about Jason Squared. So why are you angry?
    Your anger confuses me I must admit. After all you are the one who went searching online for ME. You are the one who found MY poem at Awesome Dude. You are the one who found MY blog. You are the one who started reading it. And your angry with me,WHY?
    You twisted little closet dweller, how dare you try and put this back on me. This blog has never been about you, you egocentric little fuck. I write this blog for me, to help me understand why I put up with your shit for as long as I did. I write to better understand myself.
    Your angry because you found yourself in these entries. And your angry because you didn't like what you read. Does it bring up too many memories? Does it force you to remember the time you spent with me? It's kind of hard to deny that part of yourself when you read it in black and white, isn't it?
    You claimed that I am telling lies about you, altering the events to make you look like the villain in this little play. Well, I read back all the entries that include you and I must say, I don't see any lies. But then I haven't been lying to myself for years either.
    So I say if I've been telling tales, why don't you log in and set the story straight. You should be good at "straight", you've been pretending to be it for years. Come on Jason, grow a pair of balls and reply to this post. I know you're reading it. I'll approve any comment you have the guts to make. I don't live in fear of what others say because unlike you, I actually know who the fuck I am.
    And before I wrote this to you, I called you. But like the scared little rabbit you always were, you didn't answer my call. So if you don't have the balls to talk to me over the phone, register here at Awesome Dude. I'm here, you could be here, lets talk.
    Jason R.
  11. Jason Rimbaud

    Drop

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Drop
    written by Justin F.
    I touch the tongue to see
    A devil's face in front of me
    You blow your nose and cry
    The clown demands a sad good-bye
    A sad good-bye
    Black below the tree
    White horses dead in front of me
    A scar below the cheek
    There's a sweaty man in a bloody sink
    It's just a trip not a way to ease your pain
    Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing
    Stay cool, everything is going to be okay
    Until you decide to drop again
    A blue jean girl to be
    Sweaty man is behind the trees
    The flip side of sanity is the game
    Fourteen million miles away from sane
    A dark man in the restroom window pane
    Whose words just pour out human pain
    It's just a trip not away to ease your pain
    Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing
    Stay cool, everything is going to be okay
    Until you decide to drop again
    Until you decide to drop again
    Now, I'm so high, so high
  12. Jason Rimbaud

    True Ramblings

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    So we have been open for a month. And I know the pandemic has been heartless for countless small businesses around the world. Thousands of restaurants have closed forever, who knows how many people are out of work due to these closures. So it might have been foolish on the surface to open a new restaurant at this particular time. But we did. 
    I am also saddened by the damage that has been done to the San Francisco restaurant/hospitality scene. A lot of my friends lost everything and it is heartbreaking. The only good thing, after two years, those friends that moved away are slowly moving back.  
    “N” and I were standing outside our restaurant a few days before we opened kicking around ideas on how to get the word out that we have the best damn wings in San Francisco, when we saw a group of middle schoolers, about ten to twelve boys, walking down the sidewalk. He pointed out the group and said, “there goes our lunch crowd in a few weeks.”
    We watched as the group of middle schoolers suddenly took off running as a group across the lawn towards a single middle schooler. As a group, they jumped the single kid and started kicking him and punching him. Then they stole his shoes and his bag and took off running down the street causing several cars to come to a sudden stop.
    I turned to him and said, “maybe we should make them order to-go only.”
    So I have gone the entire pandemic without catching Covid. I have been working steadily and have been around people the entire time. Covid has run rampant through both of our restaurant groups. Between all our locations, when i was working for someone else, had about 40 cases in the three locations. “N’s” restaurant group has had more cases than I could count. He also had three deaths related to Covid. It’s been a hard two years on that front.
    “N” and I were talking yesterday about how lucky we were to escape Covid as we have been working with the public since day one. Our entire circle of friends have had it at some point. So I brought up that we might have had Covid but never had symptoms. He shrugged and finished his Mojito.
    Why doesn’t underwear come with a warning label, “might cause pregnancy.”
    Does anyone have a favorite color for their undies? Mine is red. I have upwards of twenty pairs of red undies alone. For some reason, and my husband agrees, my thingy looks great in red. Briefs, boxers, jocks, Mr. S Leathers, any type really. 
    By the way, Mr. S Leathers, a San Francisco original has some of the best fetish accessories I’ve ever seen. Prices are a bit on the high side but the upside, you get really good quality.
    Which brings me to the subject of toys. Does anyone like to use toys in your relationship? I do. I have about a hundred little metal cars that I force my husband to play with me. He doesn’t like to but I guess it’s better than seeing me cry. 
    I’ve been creating my own personal Christmas Village for the last few years. Building houses out of balsa wood, popsicle sticks, and plywood. I find it very relaxing to build, paint, and construct my perfect little Pennsylvania town. I have chocolate shops, Santa’s workshop, reindeer barns, ice skating ponds, colored sand to mimic ice and snow. And a Mr. S Leather store, complete with tiny dildo’s in the windows. 
    “I’m getting rid of Britta, getting rid of the “B”, she is a “GDB”.
    For the last few months I’ve realized that without a real direction in my life, I tend to ramble on about underwear. I really don’t think we spend enough time focusing on underwear as a culture. Underwear has so many uses. Support, keep your junk nice and tight while running. The right type of material can help keep you dry and itch free for your twigs and berries.
    Boxers for that loosie goosie feeling for your peen. Boxer Briefs to keep your bulge, well, bulging. Jockstrap to show off your ass in the gym. Thongs to get your partner boned up in a hurry. 
    In my sluttier days, I wore different types of underwear based on the mission I had for that particular evening. Jockstraps were for dancing in the club and showing off my goods. If you saw me in the club wearing a jockstrap, then I was ready for some fun in the downstairs bathroom. Boxers are only used for sleeping. A practice I learned from Jason all those years ago. Boxer Briefs are always my go to style to make my bulge look good in jeans. Briefs are the perfect accompaniment for sweat pants and T-Shirts. 
    And no, I don’t work at Mr. S Leathers. I’m just a fan of their products.
    Mr-S-Leather Explicit Content Beware!
  13. Jason Rimbaud

    New Goals For A Pretend Writer

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    Have you ever read something you wrote twenty years ago and literally cringe in embarrassment? I have so many times it’s becoming a constant state of cringe. And believe me, I’m a master of cringing. 
    I’ll give you an example of a cringe that came over me about six months ago..
    Twenty-one years ago I wrote a fanfic about the members of Nsync. Which I find to be strange as I have never been a fan of their music. Nor have I been attracted to any of the members of Nsync, then or now. 
    I always found my taste in men to be a bit on the nerdy side. Give me a man who wears glasses, a bit awkward in social situations, and I’m all in. If you add in a darker skin tone then I get a mental erection and it's all over but the moaning.
    A few of you might know my husband is ethnically an Indian who was born in Malaysia. He’s almost 5’ 10” and weighs 120 pounds skinny butt naked. Does he wear glasses? Check. Is he smart? Extremely. Is it any wonder why he gives me mental erections just by walking into the room?
    Back to the fanfic I wrote. It was twenty chapters and just over 100K words. The plot revolved around an assassination attempt of a US Senator at a concert in Hershey Pennsylvania. Of course the protagonist meets the members of this boy band and the plot is off and running to a climax I still believe is pretty good.
    But you ask, is the story any good? I can say honestly, it had some really good scenes, a fairly interesting plot, mixed together with some of the worst writing I have seen in a long time. Trust me, I read it, then I read it again. It wasn’t great by any standard.
    The tone was all over the place. Due to the main plot, it was a bit dark. After all it was about assassinations at the core. I tried to weave suspense throughout the narrative, and I think I tackled that part okay. But then I would have a scene of graphic sex, eight or nine pages of graphic detail. So it was this weird mix of death, humor, and jerk off material. Sound like a story you want to read?
    Yet can you believe at the time, I would receive up to fifty emails when I posted a chapter. I thought I was on top of the world. Which only goes to prove the theory that even a bad writer can get sympathy platitudes. 
    I actually had an idea for a sequel. Thankfully it never materialized as I would have another novel to look back on and cringe.
    Why did I fail to write the sequel you might ask? A few months after I completed the novel, I kind of went off the rails with a love affair of cocaine and Oxycontin that I wallowed around for a few years. And that addiction morphed into a habit of picking less than ideal boyfriends that only fueled my drug addiction that caused me to choose bad boyfriends which fueled my drug addiction.
    And if any of you are wondering what life was like during that time of my life or if you are contemplating on getting a drug habit, I urge you to scroll down to the past blog entries and you can experience all the chaos that comes with those addictions. 
    Or if you want to really experience what goes through a drug addict's mind, you can always read my poetry. I might have stopped writing stories but I never stopped writing. I poured all my mania, my anger, my drug addled thoughts into some pretty amazing pieces. In poetry I found a way to confront my demons and exorcized them one piece at a time. I am still rather proud of my poetry.
    Then I somehow gave up the drugs and the poetry. I swapped them for blog entries. Those posts really delved into the characters of my sordid past and focused on my journey into sobriety. They were funny, sad, and at times would drive any sane person mad at the stupidity of my actions. But through it all, I remained honest and wrote with an intensity that scared me at times and healed me at others. I showed the bad along with the bad, and was unashamed. 
    Then just like real life, days turned to weeks, months turned into years, and slowly my life got on track. I’ve been clean for over fifteen years. I focused on my career that afforded me an amazing life in San Francisco. And that focus on career came with a hefty price. I had walked away from writing and found peace and a measure of what I thought was happiness.
    Then I met the man who would become my husband. That is when I found out there was another level above a great life. For five years I went from great to perfect. I had found my life partner, the person that would spend every night sleeping next to me. That person that can make me smile just at the mere thought of his name. And when he decided that our life needed something else to make it better than perfect, he brought a cat home named Peaches. And then somehow it got even better when he brought home another named aptly, Kali. 
    And life is still perfect. And I know some of you might be thinking there is a “but” coming. You would be wrong. My life is still perfect. We started our own business. I’m doing something I love. And yes it’s slow getting off the ground, and we are still struggling to be successful. But I’m happy.   
    Throughout that feeling of happiness, I had a growing feeling deep down in the darkness of my heart. It was a feeling I had lost long ago. That feeling that urged me to get back to what I’ve always said was my first love. 
    Even before the love of drugs, I had a love for writing. From my earliest memories, I have wanted to be a writer. And for a multitude of reasons, I slowly lost that love to create stories. Yes, I wrote poetry, blog entries. Those were things that were needed at the time for my own sanity. But I wanted to get back to crafting stories.
    So I made a plan to get back to where I knew I wanted to be. Firstly, I would gather all my writings that were posted in various places under a bunch of different names before I settled on Jason Rimbaud for a pen name. I had numerous short stories and novels, mostly on Nifty. And I’ll admit that in those early days, I wrote a bunch of stroke material. 
    Secondly I wanted to start writing seriously again. So in July 2022, I made myself a promise that I would write at least two hours every day. And thus far, I have stuck to that promise without missing a single day. 
    I have written a bunch of flash fiction, even a few short stories since then. I also wrote a bunch of blog entries that no one will ever see due to the fact they focus on my husband and our lives together. They are way too personal to ever share. 
    The flash fiction stories were a way I could dip my toe back into serious storytelling. I needed to relearn how to write stories. I had been writing true to life ramblings so long I had forgotten how to structure a real fictional narrative. And that was a huge challenge for me.
    Then in mid-November, I saw a writing prompt somewhere and got this idea about a story involving a pink jockstrap. And I got really excited about this premise. So excited that I actually wrote it. And then I got brave enough to ask a few people to help me with the edits and beta reading.
    Was the story great? I’m not sure. They gave me amazing feedback and insight but by the time I was somewhat satisfied it was New Years Eve. It’s a bit too late to post a Christmas story after New Year’s so I think I’ll save that until next year. I do feel a bit bad as they had to wade through lines upon lines of crappy writing and I never posted it.
    But that’s not what this post is about. And judging from their feedback, I have a lot to relearn about story structure, plot, and characterization. I mean, you can’t walk away from something for twenty years and expect to be mediocre when you return after only six months. 
    My passion for writing was not diminished in the slightest. Their critique actually started a fire inside me. So what I’m really saying in this post, I am actually re-writing that old fanfic about Nsync. 
    Of course I removed all mention of Nsync. I created my own fictional boy band. I also updated the story to be more modern and expanded the cast of characters. I cut entire chapters and trimmed certain scenes, plus added a bunch of new content.
    And then there’s the sex. I had to tame the sex a lot. I didn’t eliminate it all together, because for some reason not only am I getting back into reading light erotica I’m also interested in writing it again. What am I saying with all this?
    I rewrote the entire story completely. Now I’m going back and adding/cutting/expanding the story from the beginning. My goal for this year is to finish the story and see if anyone would like to host it on their site. 
    I’m relishing the journey of finding my voice after so many years of writing tongue-n-cheek blog entries. And I think some readers might find this change confusing as they expect a more cheeky tone in my writings. I know in the long run I will feel more fulfilled in doing something that makes me extremely happy. And for a guy that has no reason to be as happy as I am currently, I am grateful.
  14. Jason Rimbaud

    Untitled Stories

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    In the last eight months, I somehow managed to write about two hundred ninety-five thousand words over six stories. And out of those six, four are first draft complete. 
    Untitled Story Number One: Set in Hershey Pennsylvania and revolves around a plot to assassinate a sitting US Senator on the road to a presidential nomination and the contract killer who decides to stop it. The first draft is 96,345 words.
    Untitled Story Number Two: The story takes place in the US Virgin Islands as our protagonist deals with the loss of his parents after a sudden illness. He meets a boy at a house party and quickly falls in love. But everything isn’t as it seems and when the press catches wind of his budding romance, choices must be made by both boys that will alter their lives forever. A short story with 22,889 words.
    Untitled Story Collection Number Three: This chronicles the affair between two singers, one at the height of his career and the other climbing his way to the top. The idea of this story began with my short story already posted online at Gay Authors many years ago entitled Fractured. Told over a span of five years and through four short stories, this is a tale of addiction and the struggle to find one’s identity amongst the lens of fame. Total word count is 89,545.
    Untitled Story Number Four: What happens when a closeted boy gets a pride themed thong as a secret santa gift? Who gave it to him and why? Based on a writing prompt at Gay Authors and was my entry for last year's Christmas story. Sadly it was not finished in time as it was a complete mess even with help from two of our Awesome Dude writers who tried to edit it. Hopefully it will be retooled for this year's entry for Christmas. Word count 14,289
    Untitled Story Number Five: In 2023, Tyler was forced into questioning his sexuality for the first time in his life. After reconnecting with an old friend he quickly falls in love. Now a senior in high school, he is pressured into raising his GPA from 3.5 to 3.7 from his father who has grand plans for his only son. As midterms approach, his barely passing grade in Calculus forces him to take drastic action on the very eve his entire world comes crashing down. Can his boyfriend save him from himself or will Tyler have to face things alone? In progress, current word count is 48,584
    Untitled Story Number Six: In 1995, Daniel steals a car and runs away to the big city to escape his homophobic parents. He is caught after crashing the car and sent to a boarding school that specializes in gay conversion therapy. He returns at the start of summer and has to navigate the court ordered restitution to pay off the stolen car, his overly religious ex boyfriend who is trapped in denial that the only way he can survive is to lash out in violence. Can Daniel survive the summer before he turns eighteen or will he be trapped in a town he hates. In Progress, 22,923
    Earlier this year, I made an end of year goal that I will have at least one story completed and readying for posting online. Thus far, I am well on my way to achieving this amazing feat seeing as I opened a restaurant last year and have just finished signing a Letter of Intent (LOI) on our first brick & mortar restaurant in downtown San Francisco. We have moved on to the financing stages and if all goes well, by mid August our very first restaurant will be opened and ready for customers. 
    With a new restaurant opening looming above my head, I don’t know how much time I will have to focus on my writing. So to achieve this goal, I will choose one of the above stories to complete before the end of the year. If anyone has a particular one that interests them into reading more, I am taking suggestions. 
    On a completely different note, in the mid-eighties, I read a book of short stories called Thieves World, a shared world fantasy series created by Robert Asprin and featuring some of the most well known writers of the seventies and eighties. My memory is that authors could use any characters already created or introduce new ones set in the city of Sanctuary. 
    As the series continued, I became fascinated by multiple stories taking place in the same location independently of the other stories. Twenty years ago I tried, and failed, to mimic this by writing multiple stories set in the same small town of my youth. This would be a semi-autobiographical tale told through a fictional lens.
    For several reasons, this concept failed. I was not a good writer and the story quickly got away from me due to lack of plot and/or planning. Recently I revisited this concept and two of the above stories are set in the same location. 
    I guess my hope, after I finish playing in this setting, is that maybe another author might want to jump in and play around in my world. Either by continuing any of the stories I post or creating new ones. But first I have to actually finish something.
    Wish me luck on signing my lease, I’m so excited to actually be able to see people enjoy my food in a restaurant setting instead of just doing take-out.
  15. Jason Rimbaud

    Tyler's Dilemma: Sneak Peak

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Sneak Peak New Story
    Graham Greene once said “a story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead”. In Glacier Bay, there are thirty thousand such stories. Here is but one of those stories. 
     
    Tyler’s Dilemma: Questioning Everything 
    A Glacier Bay Story
    By: Jason Rimbaud
    The parking lot was dark with only the faint light from the stars twinkling off the surface of the water. The water broke against the shore in gentle waves and there wasn’t a breath of air stirring the treetops. One could draw comparisons of an eerie fall night one would see in a horror movie. 
    A lone car parked in a deserted lot next to a scenic location. A moonless night with just the faint glow of the city lights in the distance. Two people fogging up the windows in a red Jeep oblivious to their surroundings. There would be soft music playing on the radio. A perfect invitation for a mad killer to attack them. 
    But that would only be in the movies. Glacier Bay had no mad killers. The rather small town of thirty thousand hadn’t had a murder in over ten years that wasn’t related to some kind of domestic disturbance. Any mad killer that found their way to this sleepy town would have been overcome by the vista and settle down to live a normal adjusted life in a seaside town. 
    Though Glacier Bay could suck the life right out of you by the sheer normalcy of everyday living. It was a town of mostly laid back conservative christians that worried more about getting to church each Sunday and making sure their kids got a great education than anything else. On the surface, Glacier Bay was a utopia for anyone weary of big city life and all the problems that stem from millions of people living together. 
    Yet it was quickly becoming quite cosmopolitan as more families moved to Glacier Bay to escape the claustrophobia of the big city. They preferred to commute the two hour drive to the office each day before retreating back to the safety of the mountains. 
    Each morning lines of cars disappeared over the horizon leaving a town filled with kids, bored housewives, and retirees that could afford to live in the exclusive coastal properties. The wives gathered in restaurants after going to the gym with their thousand dollar strollers, yoga pants, and bottomless Mimosas. The kids all dressed the same as they tried to mimic big city fashion and spent their time doing Tik Tok challenges and drinking white claws on the weekend. If you were to ask any of them, they would claim to be bored most of the time. 
    And that was exactly how Tyler Randolph Scott felt. Trapped by the ocean on one side and the mountains on the other side. In his seventeen years, thirteen of them had been spent in Glacier Bay. He felt cut off from the real world and all the stimuli that would save him from the brain numbing routine of small town life. 
    That was the driving force that led him to this mostly empty parking lot on a Friday night. It was three days before the start of his senior year and he was sitting in his brand new Jeep Compass with his best friend, Devin Jenkins, staring hesitantly at the door to the rest stop bathroom some twenty yards away. 
    “This is so fucked,” Tyler blurted after a few moments of staring at the closed door. He looked over at Devin and declared, “I’m not gonna do it.”
    “You’re the one who lost the bet,” Devin said with a wicked grin. “Now it’s time to pay up.”
    “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do,” Tyler complained with a frown on his face.
    “You go inside, pick an empty stall. Then you wait until someone comes in the next stall. It’s easy.”
    “Oh really?” Tyler asked incredulously. “That’s your plan. Just wait in the stall until someone comes in. Then I just shove my dick in the hole.”
    Devin nodded as he said, “Pretty much.”
    “And what if the man that comes in shoves his dick through the hole instead?”
    “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” Devin said as he shrugged. 
    Tyler sat in silence for a moment. Why did he let Devin force him into these stupid bets? He blurted out, “This isn’t right.”
    “Coming from the guy that made me shove a marker up my ass and parade around MIndy’s house on the Fourth of July.”
    “That was just good ole clean fun,” Tyler said with a wave of his hand. “But you’re making me do something gay.”
    “Shoving a marker up your ass is pretty gay,” Devin countered. “Plus, I had to do it in front of a house full of my friends. You should thank your ass I’m not making you do that in front of them.”
    “Fine,” Tyler said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “But I think after this, we should lay off the bets for a while.”
    “Agreed,” Devin said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 
    “Where do you think you’re going ?” Tyler demanded as he turned to look at the boy intently. 
    “Inside with you,” Devin said casually. Like it was an everyday occurrence to watch his buddy get a blowjob in a bathroom rest stop.
    “Bullshit,” Tyler said quickly, a look of panic on his face. “No way you’re going inside with me.”
    “I need proof,” Devin said flatly. “No way I’m going to let you get out of this by only pretending you cleared your bet.”
    “I’m not letting you watch me get a blowjob from some dude in a public restroom,” Tyler argued as he shook his head violently. “It’s not gonna happen.”
    “What do you suggest then?” Devin asked as he crossed his arms stubbornly. There was no way he was going to let Tyler weasel out. Not after he had to have that marker in his ass. 
    “I’ll take a video,” Tyler offered quickly. 
    Devin thought about it for a moment and then nodded slowly. He said, “But once in the stall, I want a video of your face and without pausing, I want to see you shove your dick in the hole.”
    “Fine,” Tyler said as he opened the door and took a deep breath before he walked across the parking and into the bathroom.

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