Tuesday, April 21, 2020

The juicy notebook - a couple of pages from my novel Lewis of Modern York

  – Good boy.
  He turned deep red again.
  – Yes, I can confirm that «Miss Kendall» will be holding a press conference in the backyard outside her home at 4.30 this afternoon, Adrienne enlightened a reporter. – No, sweetie, there will be no further communication before that, either public or private. I should point out that Liz prefers to be called by the surname of Warren. She doesn’t exactly look kindly at those not respecting that.
  She put the phone back on the receiver. She blushed when Liz gave her an encouraging smile of approval.
  Journalists and TV-crews began gathering in the backyard not long afterwards, rigging and testing their equipment. A few tried the doorknob on the solid door. It remained locked, no matter how many times they tried to open it.
  – Good thing we had food and supplies delivered this morning, Peyton said and rubbed her earlobe anxiously. – We’re talking a siege here.
  – Don’t be nervous, Liz encouraged her.
  – I’m not, Liz, Peyton assured her. – Honest!
  She was so zealous, so eager to prove herself that it was almost touching.
  – It’s time, Liz grinned, – time to pay the piper.
  Everyone prepared, readying themselves, far more than she did. She smiled good humored at their zeal. Only a short stretch of time passed as they rode the elevator down, as everyone but her made the last few corrections in their clothing and appearance.
  She stepped out in the hot, arid air surrounded by her loyal guard, acolytes, associates and accomplices. The giant smile seemed stuck on her face, the very expressive face. She wore jeans, a jacket and a top, appearing as ordinary as she possibly could, demonstrating that she never would be.
  Elizabeth Warren stopped in front of the gathering of journalists and reporters, standing in the open, not protected by anything like a high dais or an array of microphones most famous or infamous people making a public statement had at their disposal. They had made one such for her, but she ignored it.
  – Early this morning, she began with a loud voice, – we sent copies of my grandmother’s «customer» list to anyone that might be interested, publishing it in full, not hiding anything or leaving anyone out. We included notes and customers’ preferences, a very detailed description of what they paid for. I will be reading juicy excerpts for a while, and then I will speak a bit more, and then I will answer your questions.
  She pulled what was clearly a notebook from her pocket. A loud murmur of expectation rose from a crowd of newshounds.
  – The first section is about Lester, Lester Carmichael. Lester is a man of excellent taste, Rachel writes. He prefers them young or at least younglooking, and just loves punishing them in many inventive ways, including but not limited to birching, spanking and whipping. He also loves calling them names while doing so, pleasant designations like whore, bitch, slut, tramp, harlot, hussy, cum dumpster, nympho, vamp, flirt, tart, floozie and a number of designations that certainly would have made me blush in my preteen days. He put several of the girls in hospital. We did report him to the police, knowing it was a failed venture, but made sure we got copies of the official and unofficial police documents. I barred him from admission, but there is no doubt in my mind that he found what he wanted from other sources.
  It went on and on. The journalists imagined she read every single word in the notebook. The shadows grew long as she spoke.
  She stopped, lowering the hand holding the notebook.
  The questions began as a deluge.
  – So, now that you have done what you set out to do, any early regrets?
  The loud laughter shook them just as hard as her other actions.
  – I remain very happy about my decision. It was the right call and long overdue. Someone should have done this shit ages ago. I will stress that I just don’t want to focus on the brutal «customers», but on all of them. I know you won’t print or relay important details in your excellent papers or broadcast stations, but you should know that everything will come out, also your role or lack of role in keeping the info from the public. It has already.
  She touched them, not holding herself back at all. She used her powers to rub their cocks and cunts, making them writhe in discomfort. The smile grew even more enthusiastic.
  Questions and answers continued for a long while, clearly hostile, but much of it lost its bite early, and even more so as the seance progressed.
  – What about your fellow squatters? One asked a question obviously designed to embarrassed her. She shrugged it off with yet one more act of sequential elegance.
  – The others are certainly a part of this campaign, but we work on many things, many aspects of the modern community, the list of horrible wrongs to be corrected is horribly long.
  – Garrett from the Post, ma’am, he presented himself.
  – It’s so nice to meet you, she responded sweetly.
  The frown on his brow grew visible and deep.
  – Isn’t prostitution merely an exchange of funds and services between two consenting adults?
  She did pause, pretending to ponder the issue.
  – That’s certainly one of many myths that have prevailed for a while, one we will keep cracking like the overblown balloon it is.
  She shook her head decisively.
  – No, it’s a process where the one receiving the funds is the weak part, a very unequal part. Prostitution is happening on many levels and variations throughout society, but the version where people are sort-of fucking is our main focus right now. We will certainly return to the rest at a later point.
  Something happened then, a darkening of the very air no one could put into words. She seemed to grow, to suddenly stand very close to them, towering over them like a giant.
  – We are told, pretty much from the cradle that we should accept every single injustice and indignity visited upon us. It is time we give a loud FUCK THAT in response to such horror.
  It only grew in intensity from that point…

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