Written by Deeply Twisted 10/01/2012
Edited by Captains Siren
*
You never imagined that it would start from an odd post on a message board.
It was a simple ad in a personals section on a dark little corner of the internet. Authors swapped fanfics back and forth, and wrote smutty tales and stories for each other. Bodice rippers and corny romances, and all sorts of tales starring celebrities and the characters that they played engaged in all kinds of sex and things that would drive a copyright attorney completely bonkers.
His ad was simple. He offered to write a different type of story, featuring the person that contacted him. In the post, the author made no bones about his intentions to write stories for whoever was willing to supply him details. The stories would be violent, brutal, painful nightmares that any normal person would shudder to see.
His handle was Deeply_Twisted.
His post was disturbing. It stood out.
His next was even more disturbing. He messaged the board to state that he still had slots open for whoever wanted to star in a story.
Who was this... person? Was he a freak? Was he really deranged? What did he mean that he still had slots left? Were people really lining up to star in a story about their own painful, punishing violation?
You had to know more. You messaged him.
'I'm curious... ...about you. With all due respect, are you serious when you post about being violent, etc? I've never met anyone like you before, if that's the case.'
To your surprise, he responded. He did not degrade you, or try to engage you in cyber sex. He did not evade any question that you asked, and he was as open as any man you had ever met. Any question you asked, he answered. He harboured no illusions about himself, and he shared his doubts about his good nature and his soul. He fretted that he was a monster, and he confided in you his darkest thoughts.
You listened intently. (Via chat...) And you learned a great deal about him, and he learned about you. And this whole time, this odd man that would answer any question you asked without hesitation, he struggled to make sure you were comfortable with him. Even when he shared things with you that made your skin crawl, he struggled to ensure that you were not frightened.
The stories were an outlet for him. They mattered to him, because they kept him sated and sane. They mattered to you because they went places you could not imagine, even though you tried.
Oh how you tried.
And he kept updating you on what he was writing. Some girl requested a humiliating rape that had little violence, and he spun his talent to accommodate her. A tale was told of six escaped convicts and a relentless, punishing, humiliating ravishing.... That was surprisingly painless. Another one requests a story that focuses on the torture of her own very large breasts, and he forged a tale with simple words that made your nipples ache in sympathy.
And it disturbingly aroused you. Why?
Who was this guy? You could not fathom how this person, so polite in chat, with such a wry sense of humour, writes these things? And why were you reacting this way?
It flummoxed you. Sometimes you thought of him at night. Dark thoughts flowed in the darkness as you tossed in your bed.
And he still talked to you. Not one attempt to get sex or satisfaction, or any one thing from you. Gentle jokes mixed with thoughts on evil, twisted torments flowed through your computer and through your phone. He listened to you and learned about your day, paid attention to the things you said, and remembered little tidbits of conversation that you mentioned casually in a way that both impressed and unnerved you.
More than once, you pleasured yourself to the things he described, but even more than that, you started to imagine him with you and doing those things to you.
And one day, it happened. He mentioned that he was heading out for tempura sushi at a local place called Midori's. It struck a bell with you. You knew that name.
Midori's was on Hightower, off Westbridge. You drove by it every day.
You thought about it, and then called up Google.
There it was, Midori's Sushi bar. Try the Tempura Sushi! The ad exclaimed brightly!
Sweet Jesus, you think, he's here. Right here, in town. The forums let people obscure where they were from to allow them some sense of privacy, and you both had that feature activated. But you've been chatting with him for some time now, and he'd let it slip because he didn't think anything of it.
On one hand you thought, its sushi. You had no desire to be in a place where they served dead anything, let alone raw dead fish. You'd become a vegetarian some time ago, and you preferred your food to come from green plants and your garden. On the other hand, to put a face to this maddening figure, this funny, twisted, painfully honest man, that was maddeningly intriguing.
It was not a contest. A moment later you were primping yourself in front of the mirror. Hair was twisted into a messy bun, snappy shoes with just enough heel to flaunt your calves slide onto your feet. A quick check in the mirror shows your pale skin accenting the shadow of your cleavage.
It would have to do.
The car ride is quick, there's no traffic at all. And the lot at Midori's is barren with just a few cars.
You walk cautiously into the lobby, head swivelling around to see if you can spot him. There's a couple in the corner sharing sushi (Yuck!), a middle aged man sitting in the back enjoying a bowl of soup justtt a tad too much.... And then you spot him. He's sitting directly at the bar, dressed in an immaculate Armani suit. His dark hair is styled, coifed and perfect. He uses chopsticks flawlessly; ladling raw fish into those soft, nearly perfect lips effortlessly.
You swoon just a little. He looks like a young movie star.
You smooth out your dress, and surreptitiously rearrange the 'girls' to show off more cleavage. You let your glasses slide halfway down your nose, partially because the frame isn't tight and never stays in place, and partially because it makes you look like a naughty librarian.
You strut over to the Sushi Bar and sit one seat away from him and his perfect hair and suit. He gently wipes away a bead of soy sauce from his lips, his perfect, soft, pale lips.
The chef bows to you, and asks what you would like to order.
'Can you make a twisted roll?' You ask coyly. 'A deeply twisted roll.'
You lick your lips and turn to smile at the dark, handsome stranger as he recoils in surprise.
Your smile falters as he continues to shovel sushi into his mouth. A moment ago, that had been almost sensuous. Now it was just irritating.
The chef looks at you in confusion. He stumbles over his English and apologizes deeply, explaining that he does not know what that is.
'It's a special roll, the Deeply Twisted roll. Are you sure you've never heard of it?' You ask, with just a hint of exasperation. You look over at the tall dark stranger with the now very gauche suit and the over gelled hair shovelling raw fish into his gullet like some bizarre fish disposal machine. He returns your look with one of confusion.
'Lady,' He says, not unkindly. 'Just try the tempura roll. It's fantastic!'
You roll your eyes and lean over. 'It's me Scott. Addie. Remember? The speculum and the bees?'
The man's eyes widen, as he stares at you. Behind him, the older man chokes on his soup that he had been shovelling into his mouth. The couple continues to blissfully lie to each other and eat as well.
The dark man continues to stare at you, then he turns to speak to the chef.
'I'll... I'll just get mine to go.' And then he deliberately takes his drink and his sushi and moves to another table, looking over his shoulder at the crazy lady behind him.
You smack your hand into your forehead. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. This was a bad idea.
