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I am Nightcrawler…Part II

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(continued)

I couldn’t figure it out.  There was a long, dark hall and many doors, some with light peeking underneath. I heard muffled voices, laughter…moaning.  Oh shit.  The moaning got louder, deeper then…a whip cracked followed by a scream.  That’s it, I’m outta here.

I reached for the door but there was no handle. I ran my hands all over the door.  I started to freak.  Don’t panic Nicole, there has to be a handle. I took a deep, cleansing breath then tried again...holy shit, there’s no handle!  How do I get out of here?!

Suddenly the door clicked.   A man’s voice came from the other side. “I won’t be long so park close”, he said to someone.

My instincts told me to run.  I sprinted down the hall, slipped into a dark room and shut the door.   Man it was dark.  For real, pitch black.  I searched the wall for a light switch.  Nothing.  Great.  I reached for the door…NO HANDLE!  Jesus!  Who designed this place?  Ted Bundy?

I heard someone breathing then…someone touched me.

I screamed.  Like a really good horror movie scream.

From the darkness….”Shhhh”.

“Who are you?  How do I get out of here?” I asked.

Again, “shhhhhh”.  But this time it came from more than one person.

I stood there, terrified then someone took my hand, tender, non threatening.  I was led through the room. I shivered as various hands touched my body along the way then, a door opened allowing a faint sliver of light in.  I turned, caught a glimpse before the door closed behind me.  There were at least twenty naked women in that room.

On the other side of the door I was able to see my rescuer; a handsome man with crystal blue eyes and a warm smile.

blue eyed guy

When I got my bearings I realized we were in a lounge.  He led me to a table and like a gentleman, pulled my chair out then sat across from me.

“You okay?”  he asked.

“I guess so.  What the hell was that?”

I nervously looked around.  The place was  intimate, lit with candles and decorated with couches as well as tables and chairs.  There were people scattered about.  Some mingled and sipped drinks, a few more cozy couples whispered and giggled, and in the corner one couple was in a full make-out hump session on a couch. Whoa…that’s graphic.  He caught me staring.

“Your first time here?  Didn’t you get a menu?”

“Menu? No.  I, ahh..”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.  It was a layout of the place and each room had a name.

“What room were you trying to find?”

“I’m not sure.”

He stared at me a moment, like he was trying to figure me out.  Wow…I’ve never seen eyes like that before.

“Who are you here with?” he asked. “You signed the waiver when you came in, didn’t you?”

I didn’t know what to say. He realized I was uncomfortable.  “Never mind.  That’s none of my business. How about just telling me your name”.

“Nicole”.  You told him your real name?  You’re a dumb ass! 

“Nicole…I’m Mason and I’ll be your tour guide here at The Chamber”.

“The Chamber?” I asked.

“Okay.  I don’t even want to know why you don’t know where you are.  Let’s just take a look at the menu so you don’t end up somewhere that will scar you for life, like here”. He pointed at a room labeled…

“Plushie Paradise?” I asked, not understanding what I just read.

“It’s where people dress up in animal costumes and hump each other”, he said.  “You don’t seem that depraved.  I’m assuming that’s not what you’re here for”.

Confused, I read the other room names.  “Whip it?”

“That’s pretty self explanatory.  It can be fun although sometimes people get carried away and it really hurts”, he said.

I read another room name, “The Confessional?”

“Yeah.  It’s pretty sick.  People confess to a priest or nun then they, well, have to do their penance.  It’s more popular than you’d think”.

This place is demented.  I needed to know more.  “What’s the Womb Room?” I asked.

“Nicole…you don’t want to know.  The Walking Dead Room is new.  Zombie sex. Zombies are really popular right now”.

I studied the map for an escape.  “Is this Back Door room a way out?”

He laughed.  “Not quite.  It’s, well…you know”.

I didn’t know.  I had no idea what he was talking about or what this fucking place was.  I just wanted to get out of here. Oh wait…back door.  I get it. No, not going there.  Eric tried to sneak in there once and I was in pain for a week.  Never, ever again…ever.  Ouch.

There were a few more rooms on the map. “What’s the Crib”?

“Grownup babies.  Adult diapers, bottle feedings, spanking, Nannies”, he answered.

BINGO!!

“Mostly men go in there, if you can believe it.”  He smiled warmly. “I guess we never really grow up.”

I’m not sure I wanted the answer, but I asked anyway…”Are you into that kind of thing?”  Please say no…you’re too fricken cute.

“No”, he laughed.  “Not into anything like that.  By the way, if you need to use the bathroom, don’t go into the room labeled The Bathroom…it’s a horror show in there.  Use the Ladies Room.”

“Oooh.  Thanks for the warning”.  Well, what now Nicole?   I need to go into the Crib but if I tell him, he’ll think I’m a freak.

“Do you want a drink?”  He asked.   “I know I could use one.”

“Yes.  Me too, thanks.”

“Margarita?” he asked.

“Perfect. I’m going to run to the Ladies Room. I’ll take my map.”

“Don’t get lost”. He shot me a killer smile then headed to the bar.

I didn’t have much time.  The doors on this side weren’t labeled but according to the map, “The Crib” was two doors down from the room we came out of which was…checking the map….The Hoedown?  Huh?  Isn’t that like square dancing?  I’m confused.

I took my chances and slowly cracked open the door.  Nursery type music played softly in the background.  I gathered some nerve and peeked in.

Oh God…I’m going to need a lobotomy after this.

Top Secret Mission – Codename: Nightcrawler

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bait 1You can’t conduct a successful mission without a cool codename.  And no, I’m not a Marvel fan so simmer down comic book geeks. It’s a fishing reference.  When I was little, I used to go with my Dad and always felt sorry for those “Nightcrawler” worms he used as bait. Poor things, dangling off a hook, awaiting their doom.  Much like me this week except, I was man bait.

Lambert and I were supposed to go on another stakeout the night after prom, but he cancelled.  Apparently his mother busted her knee falling off a paddle board.  Now we all saw Mother Lambert the night  he was appointed Vice Principal, no way that old bat was getting on a paddle board. I think prom night spooked him. I’m surprised but then, not surprised.  I’m surprised because we were so close on prom night, at one point I actually thought he was going to tell me he loved me.  But I’m not surprised because…he’s a guy, we got close, he panicked.

Not wanting to go to jail, I really needed to find out what happened to Shannon (A.K.A. “Shanny the Nanny”), so I did the stakeout on my own.  Lambert told me to text him if anything happened.  Honestly, I had only planned to stay a couple hours but I wasn’t in front of Senator Richard’s house ten minutes before he came out and took off in his Jaguar.  Still setting up my snacks, I nervously scrambled to get my mini-van started.  My hummus platter fell to the floor as I raced to catch up with him. I tailed him for an hour before he finally stopped to get gas.  I started to freak because it looked like the Senator was headed to the city and Lambert wasn’t returning my texts.

I decided to keep following him.  Even through the Lincoln Tunnel, his Jag was no match for my mini van and years of experience zipping my kids to/from school and practices.  Luckily we only drove a few blocks into the city before he pulled in a secured lot and gave his keys to a valet, who seemed to know who he was. I double parked and watched as he approached a steel door, punched a security code on a keypad then enter.  Shit!!  I should have grabbed my binoculars!

I wasn’t sure what to do.  I sent Lambert another text but still, no reply. As I sat there, a BMW pulled into the lot, a man got out and headed to the door.  This time I grabbed my binoculars and aimed it at the keypad.  “198374”.  Got it, but now what? As the valet got in the BMW I made a snap decision.  I left the car double parked, waited for the valet to pull away then ran over to the steel door.  My hands shook as I punched in the code, 9-1-8-7-3-4.  “ACCESS DENIED”.  Shit! I had the numbers jumbled up.  I tried a couple more times with no success.  The valet saw me as he headed back to his booth.

“Hey!  Are you supposed to be here?” he yelled.

One last chance…1-9-8-3-7-4…the door unlocked.  I quickly slipped in.  Whew.

It was dark inside.  I stood by the door as my eyes adjusted.

Holy shit.  What the fuck is this place?

(to be continued…)

He stole my panties then he stole my heart…

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You learn a lot about a person when you’re  in a car together for 3, ten hour stake outs.  For example I found out that Lambert is lactose intolerant, plays the trumpet, volunteers at a homeless shelter, taps his fingers incessantly, accidentally killed his horribly abusive step father on a hunting trip when he was 12, rides a unicycle, has five parrots and a third nipple.

I told him stuff too, like when I was 14 I ran away and lived in the woods for 3 weeks when my parents told me they were getting a divorce, I make amazing meatloaf, Jaws scared me out of the ocean forever, cupcakes make me horny, my favorite color is red and I never went to my High School Prom because I was dumped at the last minute.  Like most men, Lambert’s eyes glazed over whenever I talked about myself.  I didn’t think he retained a word I said but he proved me wrong.

At a PTA meeting last week Lambert, in vice principal mode, volunteered me to chaperone the Junior prom.  When my daughter found out she was mortified, but I promised to give her privacy and keep my distance.  So on the day of, when we went to the salon to get her hair and nails did, I had mine done as well.  I wore something nice and “mom-ish” then spent the night trying not to be too much of a buzz kill.   Lambert was busy but when we did see each other we exchanged sexy looks.  He even secretly grabbed my ass when we crossed paths near the refreshments table.

After the kids went off to their post-prom parties, a few of us stayed to clean.  I hadn’t seen Lambert in a while and assumed he left.  As I swept wet confetti off the floor I thought back on my missed prom night.  The douche I was supposed to go with dumped me just hours before when the head cheer ho asked him to go because she and her boyfriend had a fight.  To add to my teenage nightmare, she was crowned Prom Queen.

I guess I zoned out because I hadn’t noticed the other chaperones had gone.  I was alone, standing in the middle of the gym, broom in hand like Cinderella.  Suddenly the lights dimmed, a spotlight turned on, disco ball began to spin and music started.  “We’ve Got Tonight” by Bob Segar.  From out of the darkness walked Lambert, dressed in a tux.  God damn he looked good.  I was stunned as he approached me, clear box in his hand, corsage inside.  Was I dreaming?

“Welcome to your prom Nicole”, he said, eyes smoldering.  “You look beautiful”.

I was shaking like a nervous teen as he pinned the corsage on my dress.

“You did this for me?”

Then he pulled something from his jacket pocket.  A rhinestone tiara.  He placed it on my head. “My Prom Queen.” It was too much.  I started to cry.  He pulled me close, we danced.

The next song was Styx, “Come Sail Away” and at the best, most rocking part, the ceiling opened and confetti and balloons spilled out.

prom2

This man not only listened to me but he remembered all the goofy details from my favorite flowers to my dream prom song list.  We danced for a couple more songs, but when Journey’s “Faithfully” started, something came over me.  He had made one of my dreams come true.  I had to have him.  So right there, in the middle of the gym in a pile of wet confetti with 80’s make out music in the background, we added porn to prom.  I’ll probably be pulling confetti out of my hoohaa for days but it was worth it.

I’m screwed.  I can’t stop thinking about him now.  I wonder if he knows what he did to me.  Am I falling in love with him?  How is this possible?  He’s demented.  He’s a panty thief!  We have another stake out tomorrow night and I already have butterflies I’m so excited to see him.  This is really bad but that was the best night of my life.

WP Daily Prompt: Memories for Sale

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Daily prompt for Thursday, May 16th

On a weekend road trip, far away from home, you stumble upon a garage sale in a neighborhood you’re passing through. Astonished, you find an object among the belongings for sale that you recognize. Tell us about it.

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          It’s amazing what can trigger your memory; an object, a smell, even the weather.   This morning as we drove over the Bourne Bridge into Cape Cod, a place I haven’t been in over thirty years, I had a trigger.  It was a song, “Dancing in the Street” by Van Halen.  Suddenly I wasn’t a forty-something mother of two forcing my boys to take a family vacation.  It was 1982, I was fourteen and on my way to  see my summer friends for the last time.

After we arrived at the hotel,  my husband and sons went fishing.  I chose to stay behind and explore the town.  As I walked around the surrounding streets I experienced another trigger, smell. A mixture of summer blooms, cut grass and salt water.  My mind wandered and although this particular town was new to me, it felt just like the one from my childhood.

My parents rented the same house every summer and in July and August, Cape Cod was our home.  It was a culture shock from New York and my city friends never understood why I liked it so much.  Even now it’s hard to explain how I felt when I was here.  Carefree maybe?  Adults were relaxed and because it felt safe they allowed their kids to stay out late and go places unsupervised.  While the parents drank and played cards, us kids enjoyed our freedom.  And even though we’d come close to that line, we never crossed it.  It was a wild and innocent time.

There was an eleven year difference between my sister Rachel and I.  She adored me, wouldn’t let me out of her sight which got on my nerves but at the same time, felt good. During the school year I’d help take care of her but in the summer, forget it.  I became a different person, too cool for my family.  The older I got, the meaner I got and at fourteen I was horrible, much like my oldest son is now.

My heart aches whenever I think about how mean I was to Rachel that day.  At home I can shut it off, busy myself with laundry, dishes, anything to clear my mind.  Here however, there was no escape.  I was surrounded by triggers.  Kids riding bikes down tree lined streets, passed white picket fences and Cape Cod homes.  People relaxing on their front porch, waving to anyone walking by.  A pack of teens laughing, oblivious to everyone and everything around them as they covertly share a joint.

I saw myself in that pack.  Me and my summer friends, on our way to the beach, our beach.  No one else went there, the only access was through the woods.  As we headed that way I heard Rachel yell from up the street.

“Jess!  Wait for me!”

The memory was so vivid, her voice so clear I actually turned and looked behind me.  I had to stop and catch my breath.  The sound of Rachel’s voice echoed in my head.  I felt like I was going to break down, right there in the middle of the street.  I checked to see if anyone noticed me and realized I was in front of a home.  It was a bit unkempt, a realtors “For Sale” sign poked out of the grass and a garage sale was in progress.  Various items filled tables in the driveway and yard.  It was just what I needed to switch gears.

I slowly wandered in, watching people sift through worthless junk in hopes of finding treasure.  I began to relax, normal breathing returned until I was hit by another trigger.  This one sent a bullet straight to my heart.  An old red tricycle now used as a decorative planter was displayed on the front porch.  My mind instantly went back to that day.

tricycle“Jess!  Wait!”

My friends and I turned and saw Rachel approaching on her tricycle.  Her little three year old legs pumping hard as she tried to catch up.   We laughed and walked faster.

“Jess!  Please wait for me!”

Simultaneously we began to run.  It didn’t take long to lose her.  We went around the corner then ran into the woods.  I never saw Rachel again.

We were still at the beach a few hours later when the sirens sounded but none of us gave it a thought until we heard people shouting her name.

She was gone.  They searched for weeks.  Searched sheds, woods,  lakes…  They never found her or the tricycle.  It was like she vanished.

Everything changed on that beautiful August day in 1982.  We never returned to Cape Cod and my parents were never the same.

As people milled about the tables I stared at the tricycle, basket now filled with moss and ferns.  I noticed a little girl on the porch watching me.  She looked to be around six years old, her face oddly familiar.

“Is the tricycle for sale?”  I asked.

“I’ll have to ask my Mom”, she said before entering the house, screen door slamming behind her.

Where was I going to put this thing if I got it home?  And would I cry every time I looked at it?  I felt like I ripped off a scab and had a fresh wound all over again.

Moments later the little girl came out informing me it wasn’t for sale.  Probably just as well.  I thanked her then walked away. I stopped on the sidewalk to get one more look at her, but she was gone.

 As Jess disappeared down the street a large woman and her teenaged daughter strolled into the garage sale.  They looked at items on the tables appearing uninterested until the woman saw the tricycle.  She barreled over and aggressively picked it up.

“How cute is this?”, she asked her daughter.

“It’s okay”.

“I think it’s pretty old”, the woman said.  She turned it over, moss and ferns fell out of the basket to the ground.

“Ooops.”  She laughed, picked up some ferns, shoved them in the basket, put the tricycle back and quickly walked away from the mess.

On the ground, mixed with moss and broken ferns was a dirt encrusted tag that probably once hung from the basket.  Barely visible under the dirt was the name “Rachel”.

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Tips for a Successful Stakeout

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Whether you’re the police watching a criminal, a private detective snooping on a spouse, a crazy obsessed stalker or just two people trying to find out which perve you’re blackmailing kidnapped a “demented diaperer”, I’ve comprised a list of tips to help you plan a successful stakeout.

The list is in order of major fails, not importance.  For those just joining in, I’m hoping to find answers on the whereabouts of my missing stepsister, Shannon. It’s not that I care about this skanky ho who treated me like crap my whole life and then screwed my husband.  It’s that I’m afraid I’ll be the prime suspect in her disappearance once her sister Carol decides to report her missing.  It’s sort of a no brainer since I broke into her house only days before she vanished.

Anyway, we first chose to stakeout The Honorable George Mason because he seemed to have the most to lose.  We watched the not-so-honorable judge’s home for ten long hours and experienced the failures below.  The whopper of all fails I’m going to make an unwritten tip…make sure you have the right address!  After ten hours of watching we realized we were camped in front of Judge Mason’s rental property occupied by a large Chinese family.

TIPS FOR A SUCCESSFUL STAKEOUT:

1.) MESS-FREE SNACKS – A car probably wasn’t the best place to try and impress Lambert with my cooking skills.  Hot crab dip equals hot mess.

stakeout - appetizers snacks

2.)  BINOCULARS – Yeah.  Pretty fricken important.  It kinda worries me that we missed this one.  Might be why it took us so long to identify Chinese people.

stakeout - binoculars

3.) DON’T DRAW ATTENTION TO YOURSELF.  Let’s just say that Lambert’s bright yellow classic Vette was not a good idea.

stakeout yellow vette

4.) COMFORT – (ties into #3) Bucket seats, gear shift, no backseat.  All bad for stakeouts as well as stakeout foreplay.

5.) BATHROOM – A bigger issue for me than Lambert.  We were parked in a neighborhood.  I couldn’t very well knock on someone’s door and ask to use their “facilities”.  We couldn’t leave because we might miss something.  I was forced to squat behind a bush and air dry since I used all the napkins to clean the crab dip mess.  I’ll be better prepared next time with lots of TP & hand sanitizer.

6.) DON’T DRINK TOO MUCH! – (obviously ties into #5) No Thirsty two ounce sodas from 7-11 !

7.) GAS THE CAR – Another one I’m a little worried we missed.  We called it a night but didn’t even make it to the end of the block before we ran out of gas.  This is the moment when Lambert caught his first glimpse of the real me.  I was tired and so uncomfortable.  All I wanted to do was go home, take a warm bath, put on my jammies and get in bed.  I shot him a look that said “you’d better get gas in this car as fast as humanly possible or I will literally…yes, literally, rip your fucking head right off your shoulders”.  He was back within 20 minutes.  Good boy.

stakeout Run-out-of-gas

We have another stakeout planned for Friday night.  We need to find her fast because I just can’t face Lambert’s “Plan B”.  He thinks we can trap her kidnapper if I pose as…Nicole the Nanny.

WP Writing Challenge: DUSTBUSTER

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Today’s Word Press Writing Challenge:  New ways to use cleaning supplies.

I never thought of a “Dustbuster” as anything more than a valuable tool in my lazy cleaner’s supply box, along with my can’t-live-without Lysol wipes of course.  But a recent exchange with a much younger man, who much to my surprise flirted with me shamelessly, got me thinking…

dust buster

We all know what we call older women who go after younger guys.  It begins with a “C” and ends with an “ougar”.

Close up of a Cougar face in an Autumn forest with red maple leaves

But what do we call young guys who go after older women?  “Geriatric Gigolos”?   “Senior Seducers”?

They’re not as common as cougars but for all the young guys out there with an appetite for Betty White, I hereby dub thee: “DUSTBUSTERS”.

Let’s be honest, most of us older ladies don’t get it as often as we used to and we need our pipes cleaned once in a while.  So, when your drain is clogged and your brain is fogged, who you gonna call?  DUSTBUSTERS!

When cobwebs hang, from your old lady thang, who you gonna call?

DUSTBUSTERS!

dust buster couple

One more…

If your vag feels funny, you might have a dust bunny, who you gonna call?

You know the rest.  🙂

 

I need a catchy title…

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The events of this past month are truly book-worthy.  How about, “The Nanny Napper” or maybe “The Disappearance of the Diapering She-Devil”. Wait…I’ve got it!  “The Scandalous Secrets of Shanny the Nanny”.

“Shanny the Nanny” is what Shannon (my evil step sister),  calls herself.  More importantly, this is what her clients call her.  Shanny’s long client list include not only the newly retired Principal Burke, but many other high-profile names.  How do I know this?  Because Lambert confessed to not only retrieving the bizarre man-baby photo album from Shannon’s house, but grabbing her computer as well.

That was the first bombshell.  Then came the second.

Lambert anonymously used some incriminating information he found on her computer against several of these high-profile clients.  I guess he saw how well it worked with Principal Burke so he thought what the hell, I’ll just bribe, extort and threaten some high-ranking people. He thinks one of these people thought it was Shannon making the threats so they…well…who knows what they did to her but she’s gone!  Was she fitted for cement shoes?  Sent on a one way trip to Siberia?  Put into a wood chipper and is now fertilizer? Right now it’s a mystery only a few of us know about because Carol doesn’t want to report her missing yet.

Now for number three.  Eric was served his divorce papers at work yesterday.  I totally forgot that I had listed his affair with Shannon as one of the reasons for divorce.  Cut to the chase…Eric thinks I’m responsible for Shannon’s disappearance.  Once he realized I knew about the affair and the diaper thing, he put the pieces together and figured out I was the one who broke into Shannon’s house and trashed it.  So of course it looks like I took the photo album and her computer.  Holy crap what a mess.  He threatened to tell the police so I threatened to make his diaper photo and his affair with my step sister public.  We ended in a stalemate…for now.

So what the hell happens now?  Guilt riddled Lambert thinks we should do some detective work.  He had contacted four people on that list so it has to be one of them.  I always wanted to be Nancy Drew. Who should Lambert be?  Sherlock Holmes? (the Robert Downey Jr. version) Or Magnum P.I.?  Nah..I’m not a moustache gal.  I do however, really dig ascots…ZOIKS!

freddie and daphne

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