Newyear’s Eve: The Stocker

One of the stories I promised yesterday in “The Cycle of Abuse,” but the party doesn’t really start until later… #NoSex

Jeremy (Pearl Jam – Ten)

I pushed the shopping cars in the side, and my manager ducked under the low door. “You’ve got a call, online 2.”

I went to use one of the handsets, at an empty checkout counter on the side. “Hello, thankyourforcalling Sam’s Club, howmayIhelp you?” I’d said it so many times it just all ran together, but I forgot to say This is Jerry in the middle.

“Is this Jerry?” She sounded like a Karen, and she’d already spoken with my manager, so I said.

“He’s on break, what’s the problem?”

“I just need to speak with that Stalker, Jerry.”

“I’m not.” A Stalker? “Sure, where he is, it’s a different department, but what makes you think he’s a stalker?”

“What’s your position there?”

“Day manager?”

“Well, I saw him stocking the shelves.”

“Oh,” Stocker. “No, we don’t have different people for stocking, running the register, and taking care of the parking lot, he’s just a floor person.”

“Well, when you see him, can you give him my number, and have him text me?”

“What’s this about?” I got out my phone.

“Well, he helped me, and my kids load up the Suburban.” I remembered them, from yesterday, even though they were one of a million people, or 3. A young mother, petite, and thous she didn’t say much at the time, now I recognized her voice.

“Uh huh?”

“I mentioned that we’re having a party, and he had expressed interest in helping out.”

“Yeah, well I have his number here, if you want to call him, it’s;” I gave her my number, but I’m not printing it here, for obvious reasons. I had the address at home, and honestly I’d forgotten it, until it turned up in my pocket, crumples with my receipts from clocking in, clocking out, and breaks.

She hung up, and my phone buzzed right away, but I had to stick it in my pocket. “Uh,” I saw my manager, and looked around. I didn’t see any customers nearby, so I ran up, pulling off my vest. “I’m sorry, I got to go. Family emergency, I’ll tell you about it later.” I just handed over the vest with my nametag, but my phone was blowing up.

Picture after picture, and yeah I’d read about mothers getting their daughters into childporn, but I’d never believed the stories. I finally made it out to the car, where I could scroll up, through them. Watching her play lesbian with her friends, all of them pretty, young, and I don’t just mean young looking. I mean really young, most of them didn’t even have little anthills on their chests, and if they had any pubes, they shaved them so there was nothing in the way of their bald cunts except for little chins, and tongues, and tiny hands with fingers stuffed in to fuck each other in, and out.

“Huhfuck! UH!” I blinked, and looked around. Covering up my wilting pud, and wiping the steering wheel with my shirt. My thumb off so I could tap on my screen, and bring up the little keyboard.

[Which one is that?]

[Which what?]

[Which daughter is a Lesbian? Oh, I bet that’s the older one, she cut her hair, and dyed it brown?] I sent it before I realized the more likely scenario is she bleached it blonde, then grew it out to cut is short, but of course she had to be the dirty little dyke.

[LOL, I only have one daughter, that was me. Back in the 90s? I don’t suppose you know anything about fashion.]

[From the 90s? I’m 19 so no, not really. That must have been her cousin, or girlfriend?]

[Whom?]

[The butch one, that helped you pushing the cart, and loading up the back of the SUV.]

[No, that wasn’t her cousin, so are you coming, or not? To the party, remember the party tonight?]

[Yeah, you know I’ll be there, but what did you say you needed help with? 😉 ]

[Well, my youngest,] I thought she said she only had 1 daughter, [She’s getting to the age that she’s interested in modeling, or acting, so I told her I’m inviting a talent agent. Do you own a camera?]

[No, I got a phone with a camera in it.]

[Well, then, you’ll have to borrow one of mine, but you can play a photographer, right?]

[I’m sure, but you just want to take pictures?]

[Pictures, video, whatever you want.]

[Okay, but let me go home, and change.] I pulled my underwear up, and then my zipper. [I just got off work.] I didn’t think she’d recognize me, if I tried to dress like a photographer, and I even looked up famous photographers to pick out a look. I don’t know about fashion, I just picked one I thought looked good, or would look good to a pre-pubertal little girl.

“Huh!” I wet my bangs in the sink, and pulled them out, then I held up the phone to look back and forth at the picture, of some Robert Mapplethorpe guy. I didn’t really have enough hair, so I ran my finges up the sides to make a sort of fauxhawk, and lean it over the front.

“Yeah,” that looked about right. Must be some sort of greaser, taking pictures of bikers, and stuff. Manly stuff like that, but I didn’t have time for looking up art, so I dug through my clothes until I found a clean shirt. “Sniff?” Clean enough, it didn’t say Walmart on it, and I wore a mask.

It itched, but then I almost forgot the address on the way out, so I had to go back for the paper…

;

Eve (G Grooming Prep)

My mom made me make a mask. Not like one of those old sunglasses with the year around the lenses, that were a big thing back in the 2000s. She had a bunch of those left over from 2000, 2001, and so on, from earlier parties. It’s kinda hard to make glasses out of the number 2023.

I giggled, thinking about maybe they made some for strip clubs, only instead of numbers, they could make it spell BOOBs. Maybe just boob, but that’s singular, instead of pulral, and everyone knows they come in pairs, but would the S really mess it up?

I shrugged, and sprinkled glitter all over the glue to make it sparkle. Then, I turned it over to wipe out the eye holes, before the glue dried, and set them up against a box to dry.

She was in the kitchen, pouring champagne in a punchbowl, with a big can of pineapple slices. I mean really big, like a coffee can big, but instead of coffee, it was full of pineapple slices.

“Can I try it?” I got a plastic flute off the table. Not like the musical instrument, the glasses they call a flute, because they’re long and skinny like one, but they’re for champagne.

“There’s some sparkling white grapejuice in the reachin.” She means the reach-in cooler, it’s like a refrigerator/freezer, only both sides are fridges.

“Isn’t that for the kids’ fruit punch?”

“It’s not fruit punch, it’s sparkling white sangria.”

“Well, let me try it, you know I love sparkles.”

“That’s why I got the sparkling white grape juice, just for you.”

“Huh, okay.” I put some pineapple juice in it, but I saved some for my brother, so his cum tastes sweet, instead of bitter from smoking. He won’t stop sneaking butts to suck, when he knows I hate him smoking, because it makes his wads taste bitter, but oh well.

He’ll learn.

;

Peter (mM Foreshadowing)

I just stepped out for a smoke, but Jerry was already out there. He pulled up his mask, and dropped his butt when I looked around the door.

“You made it.” I’m surprised he even had the balls after mom invited him, she invited everybody.

“Thanks for opening the door,” he rubbed his hands together, then grabbed it quick when I let go, before it shut.

“Yeah, you got an extra cigarette?” It just swung shut behind him. “Rude?” but he barely started smoking it, so I picked up the butt, and blew on the tip. I jumped when the door latch snapped loudly, but it was just mom.

“Sweety, can you show the photographer around?” She looked down, “When you finish that.”

“Okay, mom.” I rolled my eyes, and took another puff, but she left me out there to finish it. She always said, “A party is only as good as the people, but she could try for a little better quality?” Instead of inviting just anyone that helped her put the groceries in a box.

He’s a loser, I can tell. A dead end job, even though she called him a photographer. Yeah, I bet he’s just working at Costco until his art career takes off.

{*Author note* Every single one of the narrators lie, because they’re sexual predators, and victims, but they didn’t get together to get their stories straight. Which is why some of the details change, like Sam’s Club, and Costco. However, this is the 1 narrator that’s in denial, so he lies to himself, first. So, he convinces himself, and he’s actually one of the more convincing liars among this fucked up family. He got it from his mother, of course.}

So, I got the keys off the clip, hanging from my apron string, and untied it. If I’m going to be showing craterface around, then that means I don’t have to worry about pots, and pans. Let her get one of the day laborers to do it. Maybe that Mexican, Manuel? You know, Manuel Labor?

“Huh!” Never mind, she was putting a mask on him, over by the party supplies table. It was still sticky with glue, so it ran down the nose of his mask, and left glitter on the tip of it, but I held in a laugh. I couldn’t help scoffing when I saw the pattern.

Somebody traced the word BOOB in the glue with her finger, then covered it with glitter, and I had a good idea who, but mom pulled a bottle out of her big bag. Rubbing her fingers together, she pinched his bangs with product, and gave them a twist. “There, that aught to hold it. Now, why don’t youlook around, and take some pictures?”

“Come on,” I rolled my eyes, “Not much to look at yet, her’s the decorations, so you want to take a picture of the banner as an establishing shot?” I think that’s what it’s called, but honestly. I’m failing media literacy, and they covered that at like the beginning of the year, so I think so, but don’t quote me on that.

He held the camera up, and felt the button but it didn’t click. “Here, gimme that.” I stuck my nail in the lever to pull it out, and load the first frame. “You have to advance the film.” I gave it back.

“You know how to use this?” He turned it around, looking for the screen.

“Yeah,” it’s mom’s camera, she showed me how to develop the film in her darkroom too, but that’s just like washing dishes, in the dark, only with more toxic chemicals.

He’s not really faggy, you know? He even tried to butch up with that greaser haircut, but I still kept my ass turned away from him, so he’d keep his eyes off of it, and backed up against the wall when he suggested I take a picture under the Happy New Year banner.

“Say cheese!”

“Uh!” I forced myself to smile, and shook my head.

At least the motor whined to advance the film to the next 35mm frame. You just have to get it started, and the camera takes over from there, automatically…

;

Author

Sorry, this isn’t a teaser, but there’s a lot going on. So, I’m going to have to break up with trigger warnings so people can avoid any subjects they don’t want to read about.

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