#we had such a great time and got to meet Matt and Skeet

[deactivated-almonds]

Remember, there are always two killers ❤️💗

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"The Test." Part One. Sugar Daddy AU. Poly!Ghostface X FEM! AFAB! Sugar Baby Reader.

Okay! OKAY! SO! Do you all remember this, from Kinky/Do-Over-December back in the day? A Stu Macher sugar daddy AU I was fucking around with? This is set in that AU again, in said fic, I mentioned a little beach house weekend getaway with some breaking and entering Ghostface role play, this? Is that! Fully realized, or at least, partially realized for now. This thing is long, I have been working on it on and off for over a fucking YEAR! I started it shortly after I met Matt and Skeet last summer at fan expo, (can you guess why I was feeling inspired?) So because this is so long, (12.6K as of right now) I figured, why not break it up into two parts? And if you guys like it a lot, I might do some more! This is meant to be a three day weekend and this thing when it is done will be just the first night technically, so hit me up and let me know what you think!

PART TWO NOW HERE!

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Rating. Explict. Length. 7.6K. Billy Loomis/Stu Mach/Sugar Baby FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Age Gap. Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. Sex Work Is Real Work. We Respect Sex Work. Talk Of Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Talk Of Threesome. Extreme Role Play. Mask Kink. Breaking And Entering. Masturbation. Chase. Predetor/Prey. Stalking. Voyeurism. Restrained Reader. Knife Kink. Dirty Talk. Threatening And Possessive Behavior.

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Initially, it wasn’t something you put much stock into. I mean, it was one of those things that sounded too good to be true, you make a profile, you meet up with men, if you click, and they like you, they pay you to spend time with you. They take you out on dates, and buy you things and sure, they fuck you, but still you could do that? Get paid money to be good company, attractive and a great sexual partner? You think you could at least attempt it. So you figured why not, after some serious online research and looking into other people who had been successful at sugaring you decided to give it a go. You find one of these sites, you spend a good two days on your profile before it goes live and then, you wait. 

When you got your first message, it was honestly pretty exciting, even though you never ended up meeting with said first person, it got you more sure about the process. After some more interest, you end up starting it in earnest. 

You meet up in a public location, the first meeting is always feeling each other out, the next one, if there is one, is getting to know each other better, and then the next is talking about expectations on both sides. You have some real duds here and there, but over time you cultivate some good and regular clients, you make friends on your sites of choice as well as while working, a lot of the guys who look for girls like you tend to keep similar company. Regularly you go to parties or work events or the like and come across another girl just like you and begin to form relationships with them, some becoming good friends because they got it, understood what you went through because they were in it themselves. 

The guys you saw were overall good, you didn’t even have a sexual relationship with all of them, not everyone who seeks out girls in your line of work even want that, a lot just want company, to be heard, or to have someone to show off, and you made for very good arm candy.

You’d been doing good, barely had to do any regular work, still had a part-time job, but most of your lifestyle was paid for by the guys who you saw and entertained and the quality of your life had improved massively at that. You had experience and a good reputation, so when a regular client dropped off, as they sometimes do, he moved too far to be able to continue to see you as he liked, you needed someone to fill the gap. In no particular rush, still fairly comfortable, you were able to be picky about who you accepted into your life. When you got the message from him, it wasn’t this huge defining moment, it was plain and perfectly average, but aren’t most things that end up being fantastic? 

After some regular chatting back and forth together, you and he agree to a meeting, lunch out at one of your favourite spots for testing out a new potential client. 

To say that your life totally changed after that lunch would be incorrect. It was more of a slow burn. Stu Macher was significantly older than you, attractive, had some job pertaining to finance, runs in the family apparently, and had money to toss around. You are not the first girl he’d had in an arrangement like this but, he told you, he has some particular qualities he is looking for in a long term set up. He was up front and honest, he wanted to see you more, he liked you, thought you and he got along well, and you thought the same, but he wanted to test you out. 

“Test me out how?” You asked, and he said, “Like we see each other for a few months and see how it goes, if this can be what I’ve been looking for.”

Interesting. You appreciate his candour if nothing else, you can get behind someone who is explicit and clear about what they want, especially in this respect. “Can I ask what it is that you are looking for?” 

He has this smile that is dripping in undeniable charm before he speaks, “No need to rush, right? Let’s have some fun and not stress.” You assumed that is what will tell him if this, and by extension you, are “right.” 

You could do that, could be fun and easy and go with the flow. What did you have to lose?

Stu is a fun guy, he works hard and is desperate to have a good time and de-stress, you take that want seriously and he takes notice. You do all manner of things together, mostly he plans dates, but you suggest some once you get more comfortable, and he likes that, it not being all up to him, more of a joint effort after a certain point. You clean up amazingly well, he can bring you to any event he wants to, and you slot right in. As for the physical aspect, you didn’t rush into it, but once you got there, it was kind of hard to stop. It became a very frequent thing, you did not mind at all, especially because it led to a slow shift, Stu wanted you around more and more, other clients got in the way of that. 

It was the afternoon, you’d been with Stu since the previous evening, you were trying to leave because you had to go get ready for an event someone else was taking you out to, and he didn’t want you to go. You were sat on the edge of the bed, trying to get your boots on, getting the rest of your outfit back on thus far had been a total fight, he was currently holding you. Arms were loose around your neck as he was leaning into you, “Come on, stay. Let me take you out to that dinner spot you like, the one that we hit up last month, the rooftop place that does the pasta thing-” 

You cut him off with a grin and a laugh, “Stu, I can’t, I have to go. I’ve already stayed way later than I was supposed to but I gotta go home, shower, change…” His arms had slipped down, hands rest on your arms near your elbows, he was laying some kisses along your neck, and you let out a groan with a roll of your eyes, “Knock it off.” You try to let the smile drop off your face as you complain, but you fail.

“I don’t know why you have to go.” He sighed, sounded like he was pouting, his head leaning against yours, and you tell him as you zip up your left boot, “Because I have other people to see.”

“See, that is what I mean! I don't know why you have to see anyone else.” 

You shake his arms off of you and stand up, you turn to see him, sheets are pooled around his hips, and he is shirtless looking up at you. It is a sight that is all too welcome, one you seriously wish you didn’t have to leave. Instead of telling him that, you say, “They help pay for my life, this is my job.”

It is true. Stu had become such a regular that in combination with him and your other clients you were able to quit that shitty part-time job, able to do this full-time. The past couple of months with him were great, you felt good about shifting gears to doing this all the time, thankful he was able to help make it happen.

He looks thoughtful, something is weighing on him, it is as if you can see him turning over the thought on his mind and as you are collecting your bag and coat he says, “What if I gave you more money?”

“What?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, and he says with a shrug, effectively repeating himself, “What if I give you more money? Then you wouldn’t have to go, could stay here with me.” 

Your eyebrows raise as you deadpan, “Stu, please. Don’t joke about that.”

“Who says I’m joking? Does it look like I’m joking?” He asked, and you respond, “You are grinning like you do when you are joking.” 

“What can I say? I just look better with a smile on my face.” You had to agree, but you don’t verbalize it. He speaks again before you can, “I mean it, though. What if I give you more, then you can have more time for me.”

Was he for real? “It would take like a lot more.”

“I have a lot more to give.” He challenged. Searching his eyes, you could tell he meant it. You said, “I need time to think on it.”

His reply is immediate. “Why?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, you don’t want to offend but you and he could be open, honest, and you appreciated that about your set-up, so in the interest of continuing it, you told him, “Because like you said this is meant to be a more casual thing right? You are testing me out, I don’t wanna burn bridges with great clients I copped before you came into the picture if you are gonna leave soon. What am I supposed to do if you bail out?”

It’s tense for a moment. You are staring at him, and he is staring back. It was true, what were you meant to do if he leaves? You could seriously struggle until you build up a good clientele base again. 

“You trust me so much.” He teases, the tone is light and affectionate, and you let your shoulders fall back down, happy he didn’t take serious offence to what you said, “Stu, I do, but seriously, this isn’t a choice that can be made quickly, give me some time to really think on it?”  

“No, no, you’re right. You are just being careful, it’s smart, responsible. I respect you for it.” His smile drops, he says it earnestly, and you believe him as he adds, “Think it over.”

You walk to him, bag over your shoulder, coat folded over your arm, your hand comes out and cups the side of his face, you lean down and kiss him. You linger in it, he lets it be what it is, doesn’t take the opportunity to try and entice you back into his bed, even though if he tried hard enough, he probably could. 

Once you pull back, you tell him, “I will.” You leave him slowly, fingers caressing him, your thumb passing over his cheekbone as you go. “See you Stu.” 

You didn’t bring it up the next time you saw him and neither did he, you think he was waiting you out, seeing when you’d say something. You think about it the whole time, but you just aren’t sure if it is right. Things aren’t weird between you both, if anything, it gets even better and so you at last initiate the conversation, or rather, you are going to, but he starts a different one with you first. 

“Are you busy on Sunday morning?” It was Thursday, you were having lunch, you tell him honestly, “As of right now, no. Why?” 

“I was thinking we could go out to brunch. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.” 

He’d introduced you to lots of people, but usually it was when bumping into someone while out and about or at a party or some other thing he dragged you to. You had never been asked to some specific date to meet a particular person. You asked, “Oh, and who’s that?” 

You had heard a lot about Billy Loomis. Stu had told you a ton about him, shared old stories and made frequent mentions of the times they hung out over the past months you’ve been in Mr.Macher’s life, he even showed you some pictures. One evening a month into your arrangement, he showed you a picture from back when they were in high school. You take it from his fingers with a grin as you exclaim, “Oh my God! So you’ve just always been hot, huh?” 

You don’t comment on it at the time, but you thought his lifetime best friend who was sitting next to him on the fountain in the photograph was pretty hot too. When Stu posed the idea of you meeting him? You jumped at the opportunity, a passive thought at the back of your mind wondering if he aged as well as Stu had. 

It is quarter to eleven o’clock when you stride into the place with Stu. You have your hand on his arm, and you are caught up in something he is saying, looking up at him until you see his gaze catch something, original thought and sentence abandoned as his grin widens and calls out, “Hey man!” 

You follow where he is looking and eyes fall on who is unmistakably who you are here to see, yeah he was of course older than he was in the picture that you saw but no doubt it was him. He gets up as you both approach, a polite gesture and one that isn’t necessary, but the fact he did is telling, it resonates. You like that. 

He is also very obviously checking you out, you also like that. 

Seeing how Stu interacted with him first hand is a total treat. The greeting and how they touch shows a friendly familiarity, both leaning into the hug like it was the most natural thing either of them had ever done. You knew they were still in touch and spent time together regularly but witnessing it all in real time is a different story. They get along well, a clear history and investment between them both. He asked you questions and genuinely listened, seemed interested, he also responded to your questions too.

“When did you and Stu meet?” 

“He didn’t tell you?” He asked with a smile, and Stu cuts in, “She never asked!”

“What am I gonna do with you, man?” He sighs the sigh of the world-weary and put upon yet still with a smile on his face he next imparts, “Let me tell you how it happened since he apparently won’t.” 

They’d known each other since they were kids, well before high school, longer than you’d anticipated, lifetime best friends indeed. You thought it was nice, a friends forever kind of deal, the fact they’ve remained close so far into adulthood and still made time for each other was honestly kind of touching. The conversation even went into some stories of their friendship while they were growing up, excited recollections shared over crêpes, eggs benny, coffee and fresh fruit juice.

It was a good time, you were glad you agreed to come, and after you ate but before the check you excused yourself to the bathroom. 

As soon as you were out of earshot, Stu was staring at his friend as he asked, “Soooo?”

Billy looked away from your retreating form, and more in particular your ass, and instead back across the table to Stu, “Soooo what?”

He scoffs with a roll of his eyes, “So, what do you think of her?”

“Oh she’s great. I totally get what you mean when you’ve been talking about her, funny, cute, lively, a real good time.” He admits with a half shrug and Stu sighed, “But?”

It hangs for a moment before the response comes, “But I dunno if she is right for what we want to do.” 

“There it is, I fucking knew it!” A light hit of his hand on the table that made the dirty plates jostle slightly, a quiet rattle before he goes in on Billy. “Why isn’t she good enough?” Stu is leaning forward on his crossed arms as he presses, and Billy says, “It’s a serious thing, man, it isn’t for just anyone.”

“You think I don’t know that? I wouldn’t bring her if I didn’t think she was right. I’ve been seeing her for months and really, Billy, she is something else.” Stu insists, and Billy sighs, “So you keep saying.”

Lowering his voice next, he responds with,“You helped pick her out, remember? You liked her first, and I put in the effort to do this.” 

“Don’t act like it’s a chore, you and I both know you don’t hate the selection process or the ‘trying them out’ either. You’d be seeking out these kinds of arrangements even without my hand in it, this is just a bonus for us both, one that doesn’t need to be rushed into either.” Billy told him and Stu said, “I am not saying that at all, of course I like it dude, and I am not rushing this, I am just saying, what do we have to lose by trying this and by you trusting me?”

The small staring contest across the table lasts less than a tense silence filled minute before Billy speaks, seemingly surprised, “Shit, you really do think she’s right.”

“Duh, that’s what I’ve been saying. Listen to me, I’ve been careful, I’ve played, pushed the boundaries and I think she is the best we could ever hope for so.” The pause isn’t long, but it doesn’t need to be before the real question is posed. “Can I ask?” 

When you came back to the table, the brunch lasted less than twenty more minutes before the bill was paid and you and Stu parted ways from Billy. Warm goodbyes and waves, and promises to do this again sometime soon. 

Naturally, on the way back to his place he is asking what you thought of it all, and you admitted that you thought Billy was cool, enjoyed getting to know him and were looking forward to next time. That real question was asked with you spread out on his couch, him leaning over you, hand between your legs and two fingers curling just right inside you, his mouth lifts off your neck as he asks, “What are your feelings on the topic of threesomes?”

An indulgent smile crosses your face, a deep breath as you ask, “Was this what pushed you to introduce me to him today?”

Another flex of his fingers makes it hard to breathe normally, and he says, “Answer the question.” 

You nod shakily and tell him your stance on threesomes over the wet sound of his fingers working in and out of you, “Pro. Very, very pro.”

That answer was just what he wanted to hear, but it didn’t end there. “You’d be into it then, hm? You wanna fuck my best friend?” 

You were helpless to do anything else but moan your consent as you clenched around his fingers. “Yeah, you want it. Want to get split open from both ends, totally used.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact that you completely agreed with. You did. The more he talked about it, the better it sounded. More words shared, more dirty talk, hopeful ideas posed, and you were clearly eating every last bit of it up. Soon enough your legs were around his hips and he was as deep as could be, hands on your back and asking low in your ear, “We were thinking next weekend, you’d like that?” 

Holy shit, yes you would. 

It wasn’t just a threesome he, or rather, they wanted, it was a little more complex than that. He outlined what he wanted in full, when you weren’t actively fucking, and it was so clear, so precise, it was impressive. Clearly, they both had wanted it for a long while, he seems very excited when telling you about it, and it got you excited, the whole thing sounded so hot, you readily agreed, you trusted him, the plan was made. 

You could hardly contain your excitement for the next week, but soon enough you are in your rented car, driving yourself to where you’d been instructed to for this weekend’s plan. The drive is a good one, relaxing, it’s summer and mid-morning, the radio is playing and you are feeling good.

Upon arrival and getting out, you place your sunglasses on top of your head, staring up at the multi-level beach house you’d be residing in for the next three days, it’s massive for only one person and stunning, well maintained. Bags gotten from the back, you don’t waste time on the driveway and make your way inside. The outside didn’t even do it justice, looks even better inside, big windows, lots of natural light, the living room is comfortable, the kitchen is gorgeous, the back patio looks like the perfect place to have lunch later. 

You scope out the rest of the place, drop your bags in the bedroom upstairs, and you spend the rest of the day however you like. A trip into the nearby town, you get some good food, plan out what you are going to make for dinner, when you are back you have that lunch on the patio and the rest of your afternoon? After you change, you head down to the beach and spend it in the water and on the sand, relaxing with some music and a book. 

It’s hours and hours later. 

Dinner was fantastic, you’d made one of your favourites, indulged in dessert and drew a bath that you soaked in for a long time before finally pulling yourself out of it. Fluffy robe around yourself, you make your way back to the bedroom and take advantage of your very relaxed state at the moment, you hadn’t even bothered to tie the robe up, flopping back onto the bed. The robe was open, mostly just looped around your shoulders at this point, one hand slipping down your body and intent on working up a sweat, adding to the moisture on your already damp skin. 

You put on a very good show. 

They’d let you arrive first, but had been casually watching from afar for a while. They didn’t tell you when they’d arrive, they’d showed up when you had been cleaning up from lunch and then got changed for the beach. The pair had brought their bags in while you were in the water, hid them in the basement before really watching you, too far down the beach for you to recognize them, looking like just two average beach goers. This was fun, the casual stalking, the clear thought and intention, building anticipation for later that night. 

Stu opens the cooler upon his friends’ prompting, passing him the cold can, “How long have we wanted to do this?”

Billy exhaled as he accepted the beer, “Fuck man, years, don’t ask me how many, but years.”

A small beat before Stu asks, “Think it will live up to it?” 

“I’m trying to keep my expectations…” He hums as he cracks open the can, he takes a sip, leaves Stu hanging before finally saying, “-Realistic.”

“Come on, don’t act like you aren’t excited.” Stu nudged him before opening up his own can and Billy shifted in his comfortable beach chair, he was half hard watching you coming back out of the water, totally unaware of them. He was excited, really excited but again, talking about it and experiencing it are different, he isn’t trying to get his hopes up too high. 

“I’m into it, I swear, just again I dunno how it’s all gonna pan out.” 

“Your lack of faith is staggering.” Stu deadpans and Billy proceeds to defend himself, a gesture of his hands trying to communicate his point more strongly, “Listen, I am being open, I’m just not convinced.”

Receiving a harsh look, Stu’s mouth a flat unimpressed line is what makes Billy add on, “Yet.” 

Billy’s smile makes Stu smile too, and he says, “I’ll make you eat those words.” 

A small shake of his head as he brings up his drink for another sip,“I honestly hope you do.” 

The conversation on the beach was hours ago, their own shared meal eaten outside in the dark, hidden, watching you through the window as you sat at the table and indulged in what you made. After that, while you were bathing, they busied themselves with getting geared up in the garage, they’d stowed the outfits there earlier and had let themselves in through the side door. 

The excitement permeates the space between the pair. 

There is no talking at this moment, but both are thinking so loud, it was as if they were having a full-blown conversation, memories of previous times and feelings of exhilaration over what new stories to recall could be made tonight. Boot laces tied tightly, and robes over street clothes, masks on making breathing sound so much deeper and gloves pulled onto hands, over itchy fingers desperate to do all manner of depravity. 

It starts the way they always wanted it to, the only way that it should, with a phone call. 

Your phone on is on the nightstand, and it rings, your head lolls back, a look over, nose scrunching up wondering who is calling at this time. You roll onto your stomach, you scoop up your phone with one hand before rolling back over, you look at the screen, unknown number, but you shrug and answer it anyway, what have you got to lose? You swipe and bring the phone down to your ear and say, “Hello?”

You hear a laugh, small and a tad surprised, before the greeting is returned, “Hello there.” 

Curious, now why would the person on the other end be laughing? It prompts you to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing, don’t worry about it.” Interesting, you ask, “Sorry, so, uh who is this?”

“Awfully inquisitive, aren’t you?” He asks, and you ask in turn, your hand that wasn't holding the phone is up in front of your face, you are looking at it as you speak, “Am I?”

“All you’ve said so far are questions, from greeting to now, can’t it just be enough that I am a…Curious party.” You spread your fingers, they are still wet from your earlier activities. You are still soaked, aching, throbbing, thighs rub together restlessly as you ask further, “A curious party?”

“Yeah, just someone looking for some good conversation on a lonely Friday night, desperate for someone interesting to talk to, and you seem very, very interesting.” 

You spread your fingers again, watch the creamy strings of arousal break apart from the action, you ask, “Really? I seem that interesting that I am your best option to spend your time with on a Friday evening?” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Whoever he was asked, your hand comes down without thought, you suck the mess from your fingers, the taste is tangy and salty, thoroughly you, delightful. You pull your fingers back out of your mouth as you respond wetly into the phone, “Nothing terminal, it’s just a tad…”

You swallow it down and then finish your thought, “Pathetic.”

The voice sounds almost offended on the other end, shocked as he asks, “Pathetic?”

“Just a little! Like you don’t have a hot date or plans to see a movie, you are just, what? Cold calling strangers in hopes of someone to talk to? Kinda screams pathetic.” You are smiling, damp fingertips linger on your bottom lip and the voice speaks, once again curious as if still in disbelief over your assertion, “I’m pathetic?”

You roll your eyes and say, “Half-pathetic, is that better? C’mon, don’t get hung up on it, we were having fun, weren’t we?”

“Seems you were having more fun before I called.” He bites, and it’s your turn to laugh, “What makes you say that?” 

The question was genuine, how did he have any idea what you were up to before he called?

You got your answer very quickly, “As much as I am enjoying this conversation, I think you were enjoying having those fingers buried in that pretty little cunt a Hell of a lot more than this back and forth we are having at the moment.”

Heart drops, stomach tightens and your thighs still, hand dropping from your mouth, silence overtakes, how the fuck did he know that? 

It’s heavy for a moment until he breaks the quiet, “Oh you got nothing to say to that? Now who’s pathetic?” 

Your mouth opens and closes, tongue runs nervously over your lips as you try to find the words to respond, attempting to conjure up an adequate response but none springs to mind fast enough because he cuts in again, he sounds a mix between dangerously venomous and utterly amused, “You really are struggling! Did your brain leak outta your skull, hmm? No blood flow between the ears, it seems, it’s all pooled between your legs.” 

You sit up, mouth having fully fallen open, the words trying to soak into your grey matter as you bite back, “I have a brain!” 

The response from the receiver is sharper in tone than the edge of a fucking knife. “Act like it.” 

Holy fucking shit. 

You still have not spoken, so he continues to, “Because right now, you just seem totally fucking brain-dead, can’t even string a single sentence together. Is your mind elsewhere? Do you want to keep putting on a show for me instead?-”

He can see you. He has to, how else would he know what you have been up to, he is fucking talking, again,  “-I bet you do. Go on, go ahead, get those fingers back in that tight looking little hole, I’m waiting.”

You were not about to do this, were you? There was no fucking way that you would give in so easily, no you weren’t about to start masturbating for this freak on the phone, you were going to do something far more productive, track the son of a bitch. You are sitting up, looking around, the still wet hand closing your robe over your chest while your other hand held the phone to your ear. 

Get your body covered, get up off the bed, make sure the doors are locked, make it, so this freak can’t get in, go, go, go- his voice cuts through your train of thought once more, “Oh you are so cute! You are not going to find me that easily.” 

He might be right, but that doesn’t mean you were going to give up that easily, you are out of bed, robe is closed, and you are across the room, hand on the door knob, you twist, pull, the door opens, and it is revealed that you are in fact not actually alone in this beach house. 

“Surprise!” 

A tall figure clad in black hooded robes, a bleached bone white mask staring down at you, black eyes and mouth twisted open in a permanent scream, it makes you want to do that yourself. 

Instead, what you do is react quicker than you ever thought you could, you drop the phone, your hand comes up, and you move, slamming the door closed, one hand on the wood and the other still braced on the knob moves, you click the lock closed. Backing up, hands held up, bare foot brushing against the discarded cell abandoned on the floor as if on a cue the phone starting ringing when you made contact with it again, you jumped and vowed not to answer it. The pounding on the door is loud and incessant, he’s strong, he can get in here if he really wants to, and it sounds like he really fucking wants to. You think fast, you look around the room and make a choice that you can’t stay in here, you have a place you can go, but it’s risky, you have to be careful. 

You turn on your heel and move, abandon the door and still ringing phone and as you leave both sounds gets a little quieter, you enter into the ensuite bathroom, you close its door and lock it too before you hurry to the window. Cinching the robe’s belt tighter around your waist, you double knot it, and then you open the window, the breeze rolls in, fresh air on your face feels nice, soothing and calming, a slight balm to your currently frayed nerves and overactive mind, the smell of sea salt is strong. 

Fingers deftly roll your sleeves up, folding them, so they rest around your elbows, and then you set to your plan, you start to climb out the window. This place had a slanted roof, at a small angle, one you’d have to be cautious walking on, but you could walk on it all the same. You were going to hold on for dear life and make your way to the guest bedroom window, creep in quietly and then be able to hopefully get downstairs and out, away from this freak who wants to do God knows what to you. 

Doing this barefoot, is it smart or stupid? You find you can’t decide as you carefully step on the rough tiling, you have one hand on the top of the windowsill, and soon you are out into the open air, you keep one hand up, and slowly you start to move, hand braced on the roof, fingers passing over as you shuffle and move. You feel like a bit of a cliché’ as you keep thinking, “Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down-” 

You manage to make it after about a minute of mindful manoeuvring, your hand grips onto the window’s ledge and your other hand forces the window open, thank the Lord it wasn’t locked. The want to throw yourself inside is immense, but you have to be careful, instead you ease yourself in, ears strain to listen, you don’t hear the pounding, did he give up? You have to check. You creep to the door and peek out down the hallway towards the bedroom you’d been staying in, the door is open, and he is nowhere to be found, shit. 

No point in lingering, you have to make a move, or he will find you, quick and quiet feet carry you through the door and to the top of the stairs, your hand grips the railing, and you are about to start your descent when your periphery catches it, a flash of black fabric. Your heart seizes, and you swallow thickly, stomach dropping you don’t wait to confirm it, sure your mind might be playing tricks on you in your heightened state of terror, but why risk it? 

Down you go. 

You think that outside is best, try to make it down the dark beach under the cover of the night to the next beach house, ask for help, the robe you wore is white and not exactly the best for sneaking around, “Beggars can’t be choosers-” you muse as you pad down the hallway and towards the kitchen. You make your way through and were headed to the doors at the back leading out to the patio, so close, you’d be outside again and could hopefully make your escape. 

You have sincere hope. 

That same hope was short-lived. It died when the door swung open before you could reach it, when that same figure from earlier in that same outfit stepped inside. Tall and imposing, the air carried in from outside smelt like the beach usually does, salt tinges the air, you can hear the faint crash of the waves outside. The fragile and glass like pane of your now clearly false sense of security, that bubble of unearned cocky confidence that you could do this, get out, unscathed? It burst, popped, lays shattered at your feet that were currently trying to go backwards again. You don’t turn, try to back up as the one your eyes are locked on is advancing, the door had been closed, it’s too quiet, black boots on tile as he approaches, and you back up into something solid, firm, warm. Eyes look up, head tips back, a second figure, another mask, ah yes, of course. 

There are two of them, after all. 

No chance to move, hands settle slowly on your shoulders, a squeeze that is firm and felt through the plush material of the robe. The feeling of another hand on you makes your head snap back down, leather clad fingers trace down your chin and neck, “You did better than I thought you would. You mighta got away with it if it was just him, if I wasn’t outside watching, I saw your little stunt on the roof. Impressive honestly, real brave.”

His hand is moving lower, fingers dipping into the split in the front of your robe and something in you snaps, you don’t want to give in or give up yet, so you, once again, move. You pushed, both hands land on his chest, and you shove him backwards, the action is fast, it catches him off guard, perhaps he was a little too confident himself, assuming his accomplice having his hands on you would root you to the spot in fear alone. It is not enough, the other man’s grip was loose and with an elbow thrown back right after, catching him in the stomach you are off the second his hands slip away. 

You go to the left and try to pick up the pace as fast as you possibly can, you can still make it out of this intact, but you didn’t account for a few things. The floors are tile transitioning to hardwood, you are barefoot and sweating from fear and adrenaline, and how far they can reach, the minor moment it takes to recover after partially slipping is more than enough to give them the edge they require. 

You had made it a whole five pathetic steps before the hand is locked firmly onto your arm and yanking you back, hitting into the solid wall of his chest. You feel the touch of cool plastic from the mask he wore on the side of your face as he breathes out, “Aweee, too fucking bad.” 

The grip is unyielding as you are moved against your will, dragged towards the kitchen table, you struggle the whole way even though it is futile, helpless to the point it pulls a laugh out of them. 

“Such a try-hard!” Croons the one hauling you over hardwood, your toes barely skimming the smooth surface as you try to kick and wriggle away, “It’s adorable.” Calls the other, you can hear his smile behind the mask, following behind at a leisurely pace. 

Soon you are right in front of the table, and you are turned, ass pressed against the corner, there are hands-on your wrists, holding your hands behind your back, the grip painfully tight by the figure behind you. Yet you don’t give in, not bothered by the unusual angle of the edge of the table that between you and him. The table is heavy and thick wood, even the smallest part of it combined with his hands make your continued attempt once again laughable, no way you can have enough strength or leverage to budge the piece of furniture. You are still struggling, but the other one steps forward, his hands lock onto your shoulders. “Knock it off.”

Held by them, the multiple points of contact, the support of the table, you are thoroughly fucked. The bright flame of hope of escape inside of you dims, but the part of you that is acutely aware that this is a game, that under these masks are the men you know, one who you trust immensely, Stu, and the other his best friend Billy, and that thought? Instead, makes arousal spark in terrors place. You can truly allow yourself to feel everything, can give yourself over and into the game they set up.

“Seriously, you’ve lost. Accept it honey.” The last word is spoken with a particular spine-chilling bite that allows a tinge of fear to remain, you let it fuel the want further. 

You were just in this position. Your eyes flick over the few feet where you were bracketed by them both, totally boxed in, you had not been able to get away, no match for them. One hand is off your shoulder, the leather clad hand is gripping your face, it makes your eyes snap back to the mask staring you down. “Your eyes should always be on us, understood?”

Which one was this? You thought you’d be able to tell because of all your experience with Stu, but you really cannot nail it down, you are intimately familiar with Stu’s touch and his voice, but they sound different, not at all familiar. Not in a bad way, the voice they’ve adopted somehow is more than working for you, deeper, smooth yet still rough around the edges; the timbre of it resonates deep within, makes you think if pressed to bone it could vibrate you from the inside out, shake what makes you, you from your very body, separate spirit from flesh.

You’d have to ask later how they were doing it. 

Right now, you respond to what he said, a small nod as you confess, “I understand.”

“Good.” He all but purrs as his hand pats your cheek, condescendingly. 

“Ready for us to start having some real fun? Make that lame little conversation we had on the phone seem dull in comparison?” The one behind questioned and the one in front seemed all too enthusiastic. 

“God yes.” Came the response, “Watching her on the beach earlier was a total tease and I could barely get a good look at her in bed, I need to see this body up close.” 

No chance to react to the knowledge they were watching you on the beach, they probably were stalking you all fucking day without you even realizing it. Hands grip and your robe is pulled open and pushed down, your arms are locked to your sides by how the material bunches and sits, your tits fully out and on display. 

“Look at her.” Gloved hands are on you, touching you, palming your chest, groping, thumbs pass over your nipples lightly making you inhale a hair harder. You feel the mask on your bared shoulder, the assailant behind you also taking in the view and the slow, easy touches of leather encased fingers on delicate flesh.

“She’s not made of glass, you won’t break her.” The encouragement makes the treatment get rougher, a pinch of the sensitive peaks makes you tense momentarily from the jolt of pain. 

They take notice. Amusement is back as the one currently rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers says, “Oh, we are gonna be a lot rougher than that, but, don’t worry, you can take it.” 

As if to punctuate what he said and prove he can make good on his promise, one hand abandons toying with you and smacks your breast. The pain is different, sharper, it gets a bigger reaction, you squirm, body bows, and he hits again, another rock of your body, another hit lands. You exhale sharply, and you can feel the energy between the pair, it’s light and giddy. 

“Can’t wait to see all the reactions we can pull outta her. Get her on the table.” 

“In a minute.” Calls the one behind you. He lets go of your wrists, confident you are too distracted to do much of anything in the midst of your tit torture session. He unties the robe’s belt around your waist and pulls it behind, using it to bind your wrists, he twists and twines it, wraps it around, knots it tightly, with the thick material still bunched around your elbows, your arms are effectively useless. 

“There.” The one behind says before he hooks his fingers in the expert knots and pulls hard, your back hits the table, your tied hands rest in the small of your back, your weight on top of them will make them fall asleep you are sure of it as you groan. Between them both, you are adjusted, your head is hanging off the edge of the table, legs half hanging off the other side. You are exposed totally now, the robe is barely on and has fallen to the sides, neck, chest, stomach and lower all bare.

One of the chairs next to your head is pulled out, leg raises, black boot on the seat of the chair in plain view of you, and you watch as the knife on the ankle holster is removed. The knife is large, you’ve seen it before, in a movie once, the name flashes through your mind, bowie sounds correct. 

His boot moves, swings down, connects with the floor again and in a swift movement you feel the edge of cold steel against your throat. Your eyes go wide, a harsh swallow and the knife is held closer, if you attempted this action again you are sure that your skin would break, and you would bleed, a frightfully exciting concept. 

“This here is what we like to call incentive.” He all but purrs and the one at the other end of the table, currently standing between your legs, pipes up, “That’s a big word, you might want to spell it out.” 

A shared laugh, “Good point.” The flat of the blade taps, and he expounds, “This is here to make sure that you do every filthy, fucked up thing that crosses our minds, understood?” 

You had no option but to comply, to play nice and play the part of the good pliant fuck doll. 

The next move couldn’t be clearer to you. Eyes flick up and meet his hidden behind that mask, you tilt your chin up, holding your head with confidence, leaning into the blade, not shying away, not fearful and asked, “What’s first?”

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1235

Monday, November 5, 2018

 I schlepped my giant laptop to Comet Comics new location last week to write these reviews. Otherwise there would have only been two titles that had any rack copies for me to borrow. My thanks to Becky and Ryan for giving me permission to read their subscription service comics.

 Penny and I had a daylight savings time oopsie moment Sunday morning when we went to the Carleton Tavern for breakfast. Sam is always there early and we usually are among his first customers at 9 AM when he officially opens. We hadn't changed the time in the car and thought that it was really deserted when we got there. It's usually hopping at 10 AM but our server pointed out our boo-boo and boy did I feel like a goof. I would like to see the twice a year time adjustments go the way of the Dodo bird.

 West Coast Avengers #3/LGY #105 - Kelly Thompson (writer) Stefano Caselli (art) Triona Farrell (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Spider-Gwen is my favourite team member right now. The fight with B.R.O.D.O.K. escalates with more giant mutated women stomping around L.A. The good news is Tigra is now on the side of the good guys. The bad news is Kate got zapped by B.R.O.D.O.K. I love all the dialogue and team members interacting.

 Iron Man #5/LGY #605 - Dan Slott (writer) Max Dunbar & Gang Hyuk Lim (art) Dono Sanchez Almara (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Self Made Man part 5. Remember Arno Stark? I didn't. He's Tony's brother. This issue features his return and he's a piece of work. This genius makes Spock look like he's emotionally unstable. Arno teams up with someone who has already caused Tony problems so the future should be quite interesting.

 Extermination #4 - Ed Brisson (writer) Pepe Larraz (pencils) Dexter Vines (inks) Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). This is where we find out why Ahab is trying to kill the young X-Men from the past and how young Cable is trying to save everybody. I knew newbie Nathan was a good guy. It's too bad the good guys run out of time when Ahab's harpoon finds its target. You may notice a subtle change in the art as Pepe's pencils are inked by someone else.

 Hex Wives #1 - Ben Blacker (writer) Mirka Andolfo (art) Marissa Louise (colours) Josh Reed (letters). This new Vertigo series is about  a coven of immortal witches and the men who are trying to exterminate them. We begin in 1692 with the introduction of the main witches and end the issue in the present (?) where they have been reincarnated, but are unaware of who they really are and their powers haven't manifested yet. The reason I've put a question mark on the present is because it looks more like the 1960s with the way the women are dressed. That bit of confusion was enough to turn me off so I won't be reading any more.

 Marvel Two-In-One #11/LGY #111 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Ramon K. Perez (art) Frederico Blee (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). The reunion of Ben and Reed starts to fill in the blanks for us fans as to what the rest of Fantastic Four Family was up to after they left Ben and Johnny to go exploring. I don't think any other writer has impressed me as much as Chip has with how Reed is being portrayed. Just reading Reed's dialogue makes me smarter. We also meet a new version of Doctor Doom and I like him.

 Old Man Hawkeye #10 - Ethan Sacks (writer) Marco Checchetto (art) Andres Mossa (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). An Eye for an Eye part 10.  The Hawkeyes cross the border into Canada in Clint's search for more Thunderbolts targets. This time it's the treacherous Moonstone. Meanwhile good old Bullseye is still hot on Clint's trail. The super big bad guy has finally gotten what he wants and that could mean trouble for our hero. I love this alternate future.

 Old Man Logan #50 - Ed Brisson (writer) Ibraim Roberson & Neil Edwards (art) Carlos Lopez (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). King of Nothing conclusion. So what did I miss since I stopped reading this book? A lot. I think the run ends here with Logan fighting Maestro, the evil Hulk from an alternate universe. Maestro has taken over the small town on Fort Wells in Canada and Logan aims to free the townsfolk from tyranny. I thought the bad guy was defeated way too easily and the last panel hinting that Old Man Logan dies was wimpy. Fans need not despair though. Dead Man Logan hits the racks in November.

 Deathstroke/Yogi Bear #1 - Frank Tieri (writer) Mark Texeira (art) Jeromy Cox (colours) Wes Abbott (letters). This $4.99 US one shot featuring DC and Hanna-Barbera characters is chock full of crazy cartoon silliness. Yogi hires Deathstroke to find a missing Boo Boo. As an incentive to buy the others in this series of crossovers there's part one of a Secret Squirrel story that continues in "Green Lantern/Huckleberry Hound #1".

 Heroes in Crisis #2 - Tom King (writer) Clay Mann (art pages 1-15, 19-22) Travis Moore (art pages 16-18) Tomeu Morey & Arif Prianto (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). Harley is great in this story. I love how Tom King is writing her. I was happy to see Booster Gold bite the dust last issue but alas, Skeets shows up to revive him. Wondering who is killing the B-list heroes is keeping me interested.

 Jessica Jones: Blindspot Graphic Novel - Kelly Thompson (writer) Mattia De Iulis (art & colours chapters #1-5) Marcio Takara (art chapter 6) Rachelle Rosenberg (colours chapter 6) VC's Cory Petit (letters). No Netflix? No need for FOMO. I binged this 5-part mystery plus bonus birthday party story in one sitting and that's rare for me. As much as I like Michael Gaydos's work on Alias, I much prefer Mattia De Iulis's art in this twisty cold case. I really liked seeing Matt Murdock, Elsa Bloodstone and Spider-Man showing up in this story. Brian Michael Bendis made me a big Jessica Jones fan and I wasn't sure if Kelly Thompson could match Brian's take on Jess but I was very impressed with this story. Even if you've never read Alias or know nothing about Jessica Jones you should buy this book. It's that good.

[tkmedia]

The Likely Lads – Ashley Sexton & Tommy Jacobs

Feature • Issue • Premium

They fought at the age of 11, been best pals ever since, but along the way Ashley Sexton and Tommy Jacobs lost their way at different times and for different reasons. Both are now 33 and fight on the same bill on Saturday night. Matt Bozeat tells their story ASHLEY SEXTON and Tommy Jacobs are the best of friends until the conversation turns to the time they fought each other. Jacobs got the decision… and Sexton disputes it.“I definitely thought it could have gone my way,” said Sexton. Jacobs’ version of events is: “Ash says it was close – but he knows he lost. He knows I beat him fair and square.”That was when they were 11-year-olds – and much has happened since then. The boxing crazy boys who fought each other at a caravan park in Dover are now 33-year-old veterans of boxing – and life. Lessons learned, both believe the best days of their careers are in front of them and are matched on manager Mo Prior’s show at the York Hall in Bethnal Green on Saturday night (July 31). Sexton hopes victory over Venezuelan puncher Antonio Guzman (21-2) in their eight-rounder will lead to a shot at super-flyweight honours, while Jacobs takes on Theophilius Tetteh (19-8-2) at 168lbs. “I grew up with Tommy,” said Sexton, “and we formed a bond. We had that fight and then won the Schoolboys together. Tommy captained the team that went to the European Championship and included Amir Khan, Luke Campbell and Joe Murray.“We were away from home at a young age and the people like Tommy and Joe became my second family. Tommy is like a brother to me and I still keep in touch with Joe and Bradley Skeete.“We still meet up for a Nando’s.”Murray went to the 2008 Olympics in Beijing and retired without winning a major pro title, while Skeete returned earlier this year, looking to add 154lbs belts to the British and Commonwealth welterweight titles he previously held.As a pro, Sexton was known as “Flash Ash”, a chirpy and confident character who showed his mettle to grind out a blood-splattered draw with Shinny Bayaar in a challenge for the British flyweight title in May, 2010. He also pushed Paul Butler hard over 10 rounds at a sweltering York Hall (after weighing in over the 8st 3lbs limit) and is known beyond hardcore fans for a knockout that Boxing News placed at No. 31 in the sport’s best one-punch finishes. YouTube views of Usman Ahmed doing his best P Diddy impression on his way to the ring to fight Sexton for the vacant English title and then being ironed out in the first by a right-hand thunderbolt top three million. “They were great times and I got sucked into the party lifestyle,” admitted Sexton. “I was going to clothes shops and not having to pay for anything and when I walked into nightclubs the DJ would say my name and people would want to talk to me. “I believed the hype. I forgot about the boxing and it was a comedown when I lost. I’m more grounded now. I don’t think I’m a rock star anymore.”He suffered an eight-round loss to Stephane Jamoye in a challenge for the European bantamweight title in March 2013 and has scarcely boxed since. “I was winning on points and then he cut me in half with a body shot,” is how Sexton remembers the most recent loss on his 17-2-2 record. “I never officially retired. I just needed to get my life in order. I realised there is life after boxing and I needed a career away from the sport. “After boxing there will always be my family and I had to get everything right for them. The firm I work for, Kelly Rail, supports me and gives me time off when I need it. I work nights so get to the gym in the morning. “There was a time when I didn’t think I could compete with the youngsters in the gym anymore, but I can still do what I did before and this time, I’m wiser and happy. I haven’t taken any punishment, there haven’t been hard spars or hard fights for five years. My body is still 26 years old. I haven’t damaged my body.” Sexton trains at the Hodbox Pro gym under Sab Leo and Julian Leivars and it was there that he prepared for his first fight for more than five years, a points win over Jose Aguilar (16-78-5) in Spain last month. “That’s the first time I’ve ever picked up my opponent from the airport, driven him to the hotel and then driven him to and from the fight!” said Sexton, who also trains juniors at the gym, including his 10-year-old son, Tiger. “He didn’t have any wheels. It was surreal. On the day of the fight he was texting me asking for more money and getting me to sort things out. Now I know what promoters go through and it’s not a lot of fun!”Sexton had Jacobs there supporting him. “The moment I told Tommy I was boxing, he said: ‘I’m there’,” remembered Sexton, who was twice outpointed by Carl Frampton as an amateur. “I told him: ‘I don’t think you’re allowed to come,’ but he was there.” Google ‘Tommy Jacobs’ and he isn’t proud of what you find. He spent six years in prison for an attack that left his victim with a fractured skull. “I made one mistake when I was young and was harshly treated,” said Jacobs. “But I made the best of a bad situation. Boxing again was my target so I was in the gym every day I was in prison and I got loads of qualifications. “I became a Level One and Two FA coach, got my PT badges and a Business Diploma.” Boxing is a sport that gives second chances – and Jacobs had to wait for his. “As soon as I came out , my thinking was: ‘I was a top amateur, so I’m going to get signed by Eddie Hearn or Frank Warren and earn tons of money,’” said the father of two. “It was a lot harder than that. I couldn’t even get in front of the Board. They just turned me down. “I boxed on other shows , but to box on Board shows was always the goal. People said: ‘Why don’t you go abroad?’ but I was still on probation. If I was caught spitting on the street they would have sent me straight back to prison. I got turned down again a couple of years ago and I thought: ‘I either give up or I wait.’ I waited for my sentence to expire. “All that mattered was getting my licence. Boxing is all I know. I cried when I got the email saying I finally got my licence. Apart from the birth of my children that is the only time I have cried in my whole life. Boxing is me. This defines me.” Boxing is Jacobs’ life again.Boxing News rang him last week when he was on his way from a sparring session at the Peacock Gym to train amateurs at Willie’s Gym in home-town Colchester, named after featherweight great Willie Pep. “I also go into schools and talk to naughty kids who are about to get kicked out of school,” he said. “I use myself as an example of what not to do. It comes better from me than it does from a teacher or policeman. They can relate to me. I’m nearer their age and I say to them: ‘I know what will happen to you, you little s***s. I know it’s not going to end well.’ “The teachers look shocked that I talk to them like that, but I talk to them in a way they understand and it gets results. I get schools ringing me all the time saying: ‘We need the Tommy treatment.’ “I underachieved as an amateur partly because I had awful parents. What I needed when I was 17 or 18 was someone to shake me and say: ‘You’re going to ruin your life. You have something here, so don’t muck it up.’ I can be the person who shakes these teenagers and says: ‘Look at me, don’t make the same mistakes I made.’” What Jacobs threw away was a bright future in boxing. Between the ages of 11 and 17, he won a clutch of national titles boxing for Harwich ABC and captained his country. “If I go to amateur shows around Essex and the South East the officials all remember me,” he said. “They all come over and talk to me. I was one of the most successful amateurs in the area for a while. “I captained England when Billy Joe Saunders was in the team and I was his main sparring partner for the Willie Monroe fight when I hadn’t even had a fight with the Board. Brendan Ingle watched me spar Billy Joe and said I reminded him of Archie Moore. He said I could still have a long career. “I’m 33 years old, but physically, I’m younger. I’m hoping I’ve got a good few years left in boxing. I believe I have five years minimum. There’s a chance I might find my level before then or my body might start giving up on me. But I know what level I can get to and I want to get there as quickly as possible. “I’ve told Mo : ‘I don’t have time to mess around. I don’t need to learn my trade against journeymen. I don’t need to be fighting Latvian road sweepers.’ I’m looking to have three fights in three months and I want to be fighting for titles by the end of the year. “I’ve had hundreds of jobs, tried hundreds of different things. I’ve been a postman, a bricklayer, you name it, I’ve tried it. They weren’t me. I’m a boxer. This is all I can do.” Read the full article

[randomconnections]

Ninth Annual Edisto River Rope Swing and Beer Commercial Float

It was time. The Second Saturday in July marked our Ninth Annual Edisto River Rope Swing and Beer Commercial Float. This trip is by far the most relaxed of all of our trips and, as the name implies, features rope swings and beer. Throw in a few sand bars, bratwurst and sauerkraut, and good friends, and it becomes the epitome of why we do this.

This second Saturday happened to come at the end of the Fourth of July holiday week, so we had several that couldn’t make it due to family vacations and other travel. I would be driving by myself from Greenville, so I left out early. There was a stop at Bill & Fran’s for breakfast in Newberry, where I was supposed to meet the Spartanburg contingent of Larry and Albert. There was some miscommunication, and they got there just as I was leaving.

I drove straight on down to our put-in at Mars Old Field Landing. There I found long-time friend Steve Serkiz waiting for me, first on the scene. Steve is an excellent whitewater paddler and he and I had done several trips on the Nantahala in the 1980s. Before I met Laura I used to date his wife’s roommate. Steve is a PhD chemist now working at the National Laboratory at the Savannah River Plant. He and Laura have been doing some work together, and he had expressed interest in these trips. I brought a spare boat down for him for this trip.

The rest of the group gathered slowly. While we waited for everyone else to show up I waded on out into the water. It was quite warm, but there was a strong current. The water level wasn’t as high as I’ve seen it, but it wasn’t butt-dragging low, either.

Finally everyone arrived. There would be ten of us on this trip, which is a good number. Alan had driven down from Greenville the night before. Coming up from Bluffton would be Todd, Ray, Matt, and James. Rounding out the group was Tim from Savannah. We ran the shuttle down to Messervy Landing, then got ready for departure.

Right off the bat we ran into trouble. There is one spot just below the launch that can cause problems if you don’t watch out. The river narrows through some strainers. Todd managed to get caught and flip his boat. He lost his phone and was quite upset, but I think he was embarrassed more than anything. We recovered his boat and got him resettled and reassured him that many had flipped at that same spot. He should just consider it baptism into the group.

Shortly after getting Todd settled a john boat and two jet skis came through. I’d never seen motorized boats this far up the river. As they came back through we had another upset. The wake flipped Larry in his boat. Larry managed to hang onto his boat and get over to the bank with no trouble.

Our favorite rope swing is only a couple of hundred yards down from the launch. Given our recent mishaps it also seemed like a good place to stop and regroup. Last year we noticed that the swing was looking a bit…iffy. This year it looked even worse. The limb from which the rope hung had broken just beyond it, and it didn’t look like it would support weight without coming crashing down. Matt thought about it, but we decided that this one had passed its prime. We toasted its demise and all the good memories it had brought us with a bit of James’s new brew.

We paddled on downstream at a leisurely pace. Steve fit right in with the group. He and Alan had known each other from Furman, so they spent some time reconnecting. I was impressed with Steve’s boat handling skills, especially during the rescue missions. The rest of us chatted and caught up as we paddled along. It was hot out, but the skies were clear.

We came to a point where the river takes a deep bend to the left. At the point there is a nice beach where we pulled up to just kick back for awhile. We pulled up the boats and played our usual game of skeet shooting with a Frisbee and water cannons. We also sampled more of James’s brew. We kept the samples small, as this was some potent stuff.

More motor boats passed us, going both upriver and down. Oddly enough, we didn’t see any of the massive float parties that we’ve encountered on this trip. There was more motor traffic than I ever remember.

We pulled up to another sandbar where a couple on a jet ski had stopped for a bit. More wading, more beer, with a bit of moonshine thrown in.

We had dallied long enough that it was lunch time. It was tempting to pull up to the next sandbar to cook our brats, but we decided to head on down river a bit further. It turned out to be quite a stretch before the next stop.

When we did reach our next sandbar we found it occupied by two boats. There was barely enough space for us to squeeze our boats in, but we did so anyway. Despite pushing our way in, we made friends by letting the young boy in the group do some skeet shooting.

Matt set up the stove and got lunch underway. We occupied our time wading in the river.

There was an excellent rope swing here and we had to give it a shot. The young boy from the boat was fearless, and swung out without hesitation. Matt also had to give it a shot, as our official rope tester. The first images below will go to video clips if you click them.

The day was getting away from us. We still had miles to go, and if we didn’t get moving it would get dark before we got to our landing. Often we paddle up Four Holes Swamp, but this time we paddled right on past. To be honest, we reached it before I even realized. Beyond the swamp the character of the river changes. It’s a bit wider, and limestone walls line the river on the way down to Givhans Ferry. A marl shelf lines river right, and eventually gives way to cypress trees and knees.

We reached Givhans Ferry and the non-motorized traffic picked up. Still it was nothing like what we had seen in the past. Most of it seemed fairly family friendly, except for one intoxicated dude who was upset with someone drinking his beer. I think his fellow floaters were about to drown him. Everyone was tired of his shouting profanity.

About a half mile below the Highway 61 bridge Larry and I spotted what looked like old bridge abutments on either side of the river. The twisted steel on the right bank made me wonder if it had been an old steel truss bridge.

I checked historical topo maps and those don’t seem to support that conclusion, though. The only bridge in the area was Givhans Bridge, and the old bridge was further upstream from the current one, about where the swimming area is for the park. Most likely these were the remains of an old dock, and they just coincidentally line up with another feature across the river.

It always surprises me how far it is from Givhans to Messervy. Taking out down here adds three miles to the trip. Out group had gotten somewhat strung out, but we paddled along. The weather was holding, but we heard thunder off in the distance.

Eventually we reached the take out. It wasn’t as crowded as some times, but was still hopping. We got off the river about five, taking us all day to paddle 10.1 miles.

We retrieved vehicles, loaded up boats, and said our goodbyes until the next time. I drove back to Greenville by myself, hitting a horrendous storm around Orangeburg. I was glad it hadn’t hit while we were on the river. A dramatic sky awaited on the other side of the storm.

It was another successful trip, despite the missteps at the beginning. Sadly, I’m going to have to miss next year’s trip since we will be in Washington. That trip will mark 10 years that we’ve been doing this. It’s a great tradition, and I hope to keep doing it for years to come.

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