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I spent nights sitting there, listening to her weird-ass music mostly stuff like the Cure and Four Non-Blondes. I wanted to find her.

That I would make everything alright. So, before this gets any more awkward, let me just reiterate: Not a monster. Client Requests that I strip naked.

His video feed is just a black screen at first but then something is moved out of the way of the camera and I can see another naked girl who is laying stomach-down on top of what appears to be a large dog kennel.

Her arms and legs are chained to the kennel and her hair hangs down around her face, hiding it from view. There is a man sitting in the darkness behind her.

His face is covered by a black mask and he is vigorously masturbating. I quickly end the session and just sit there for a while afterwards, staring at my own dumbfounded expression in the video-chat program open on my computer screen.

Then I write this log. Then I quit for the day. This was the first mention of a masked man but then he returned a week later, using a different name….

Client requests that I strip naked. His video-feed displays a shot of a poorly-lit bedroom. There is a partially open closet to the right of the frame and a closed door to the left.

Someone begins to bang on the closed door from outside and I let out a startled yelp. This is when a man in a black mask leans his head out of the closet and looks in my direction.

He is masturbating. I end the session. It was the same masked man as before. I write this log and forward it to Donna along with the one from last Wednesday.

I start to but then stop when I see the video-feed. As the woman uses a towel to pat herself down, the power is cut and the room goes dark.

I hear the woman mutter something and then breaking glass and then screaming and then the session is ended. After the last incident, I decided to install a video-capture program to record my sessions with just in case this fucker showed back up.

This has officially gone too far. When detectives arrive to question me, I pull up my video of the session to find that I successfully recorded 18 minutes of a silent black screen.

I had already tested the program and followed the steps exactly. I tell them about my job and the man in the black mask.

Then I have the bright idea to mention that the past few nights I had this feeling like someone was following me during the walk from my car to my apartment.

Just another troubled girl living alone, no man to support her, paying the bills through devious sex acts and hallucinating masked stalkers.

It was like the moment those files where extracted, the computer just keeled over and died. I sent the video to my friend Jay who specialized in extracting useable data from corrupted files along with an email explaining everything.

He agreed to come over and check to see if he could salvage the hard-drive. Jay brought up the image on his laptop and my heart actually skipped a beat.

It was a close-up photo of a man in a black mask. The picture quality was poor, like it was taken with a web cam, and the longer I stared at it the harder it was to tell if what I was looking at was even a mask.

I unlocked the phone to find two new messages and a bunch of missed calls from my girlfriend and was immediately knocked out of my fixated stupor by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

I tried calling her twice and got her voicemail both times. A sudden feeling of dread began to mount in the pit of my stomach as I checked my messages.

The first one was my girlfriend saying she had just gotten home and was hoping to hang out tonight and that she missed me. Call me when you can, sweetie.

I love you. The second message seemed like a pocket-dial at first. Nothing but rustling sounds for about thirty seconds. That was the last time anyone has seen or heard from her in over forty-eight hours.

I went with her parents to file a Missing Persons report today and played the two messages for the detective who took our statements.

I needed to write all of this down first, if only to help me mentally process everything. By the time I finally called Jay back, I ended up getting his voicemail.

I tried two more times but he never answered. Eventually, I decided to simply drive over to his house. Despite the stereotypical depiction of the computer nerd as some kind of perpetually lonely super virgin, Jay was actually happily married to a fairly attractive girl named Amy.

She never seemed like the flighty type. My whole woe-is-me, my-girlfriend-might-be-murdered vibe had been really bumming people out all week.

Anyway, I used a list of specific keyword searches to isolate all of the pertinent data from the remaining logs. Once you do, call me or email me if I go into work mode and switch off my cell.

Jay screamed as a tall shadow flickered across the wall and then the video cut to later that evening. He slowly tilted his head, like he was listening for something.

A moment later, the doorbell rang. I could hear Amy opening the door in her living room as I pulled out my cell and started to call her.

I hung up and started to dial when something dawned on me and my arm went limp, the phone dropping from my hand and thudding to the carpet.

And then the masked man came and I turned off the video and retrieved the handgun that was under my bed. It was at this point that I realized just how ridiculous I must look.

To my surprise, I got an answer on the first ring. It was kind of nasally and surprisingly human. Seriously, dude, grow a pair. Move on.

This one digs my ride more now. What the wolves howl about, the cold night wind on the back of your neck. I am the darkness that fills a room when the lights are turned out.

I am the shadow that stains your mind forever. The thing that cannot be unseen. I am doom and my favorite food is girlfriends.

They both hit their target, one stomach and one shoulder, and the man went sprawling onto his back. Holy shit, that worked! I kneeled on the man as I tore his mask off to reveal….

See, kids? I will provide a copy of the filtered logs as soon as I can. Client requests a private video-chat.

He switches the TV off and turns back to the web-cam. I remove my shirt and ask if he wants me to rub baby-oil on my breasts. I was SO fucking bored.

He resends the request and I tell him to activate his camera first. He does so, revealing a kitten in a cardboard box. After a beat, the masked man leans into frame, holding a lit blow-torch.

The request appears in chat a third time and I quickly begin to undress. He switches the blow-torch off and then lifts the box containing the kitten, revealing a scarred wooden table on which the masked man then sits, balancing the box on his knees as he begins to undo his pants.

I scowl at the fucker and yank down my panties. The masked man begins to masturbate as the kitten peaks its head out of the box and meows at him.

Client is a regular, which is the only way I accept private video-chats anymore. I open the video-chat to see the client seated behind the desk in his home-office just as always but there is something off about him.

For the longest time he just sits there, forcing a smile as he stares at me. The masked man stands and uses the prod to pin him to the floor.

He continues shocking the client until his flesh begins to smoke and the masked man climaxes. I fucking quit. It was a great job until this motherfucker but you know what?

I might as well go back to stripping. At least there they have bouncers to deal with these creeps. Glancing out at the complex, I see that the units across from mine also have bars on their windows and their doors have been boarded over.

The building is shaped like a horseshoe with a large courtyard containing a pool and several communal picnic stations at its center.

I scan the courtyard, searching for some clue as to why my apartment complex was suddenly one giant fire-hazard. It looks like… arms.

And legs. One of them, a sweet old lady named Linda, spots me in the window and her mouth falls open. Linda frantically shakes her head and mouths something at me, which prompts the guy seated at the table to turn and follow her gaze up to my window.

As I back away from the window, I finally register the series of strange noises coming from somewhere inside my apartment and growing louder by the second.

I grab my laptop and phone and barricade myself inside the walk-in closet in my bedroom. Which means simply knowing that he exists is like painting a target on your back.

It gives him a way to find you. Those poor dismembered bastards outside? They all have one thing in common. At some point, I had mentioned the masked man to each of them.

If my theory ends up panning out, then I am seriously sorry. How awesome is that? He says my writing is vital to the cause and now I guess we both know why.

I mean, could you imagine? Followed by a question:. I understand. People change. There will always be a place for you in my heart but you have to let me go.

I had turned the volume up to hear Alice and when the static suddenly cut back in, it startled me so much that I nearly swerved off the road.

Which is, of course, always a good sign. Looking at how the buildings were positioned, I assumed that my destination was a warehouse located behind a long strip-mall.

And it seemed as if I had guessed right. There were a couple of electronics outlets too, a few sporting-goods stores, etc. All of them were closed and, from the looks of it, had been for quite some time.

I was almost on top of my destination now. I looked back at the road and reflexively slammed on my breaks as the final strip-mall came into view.

Mystery, himself. Care to guess what he looked like? You have a basic understanding of how to utilize narrative clues. Call your dad. Tell him he was wrong.

You ARE good for something. On a related note, it was at this point that I became almost certain I was on the right track. I was about to pull into Mr.

I pulled into the abandoned gas station, which was half a block down from Mr. Then I realized there was a very real chance I would be running for my life when I left here and that it was probably best if my car were parked as close as possible.

Stevie Wonder? As a compromise I passed up Mr. I even backed into the space so that my car was facing the exit.

Keeping my eyes on the adult arcade, I pulled the gun from the back of my waistband and checked the magazine to make sure it was loaded. I let out a deep breath and then switched off the safety.

This is when, for the second time in less than two weeks, I found myself having a genuine moment of personal introspection while sitting in a parked car with a loaded gun in my hand.

And it dawned on me then that I was bad at learning from mistakes. But you know what? Not this time. I dialed I put the phone to my ear as the line started to ring, which was weird because the ring had sort of an echo to it.

Probably just the terrible reception out here. It rang again and this time the echo sounded like it was coming from the backseat of my car.

I lowered the cell as a third ring, clear as day, sounded from my backseat. I was too stunned to react as the masked man grabbed me by my hair and clamped a damp foul-smelling rag over my nose and mouth.

So this is what chloroform smelled like? I held my breath and fought against the initial wave of wooziness long enough to reach a hand back and yank off his mask.

The last thing I saw before my vision became one big blur was the reflection of a familiar face in my rearview mirror. The first thing that came back was my sense of smell.

My sinuses were still lined with the stink of chloroform. It was awful. You do, however, have to wear clothes when dining at the restaurants.

After dinner, we went back to our hotel room, drunk as lushes on spring break, and promptly passed out at 10pm.

But we realized why everyone wanted to know—it was because we were a fantasy. Such is life. The second night we decided to have a three course meal by the sea—one of the many romantic and sensual add-ons available at Desire.

One option was make-your-own-porno, wherein a real videographer would come and film you having sex with your partner. After our romantic dining experience, we made our way to the show on the main piazza.

Desire puts on a show every evening and female guests seem to get very into the theme, dressing in sexy costumes and mesh clothing.

The true spectacle was not the highly talented pole dancer, however, nor the feather bikini clad strippers, but Lisa, a very drunk, very exuberant hotel guest.

Lisa volunteered for everything. She climbed into a prop bathtub and had champagne drank out of her snatch. But more impressive even than Lisa, was a couple in their mid-seventies.

Both card carrying members of the AARP, the woman had her breasts completely out of a top that ended just beneath them. Her seemingly demure husband wore a fanny-pack, cargo shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt.

They go to Desire and resorts like it on the regular. They regaled me with a story of a gang bang on a prior visit, during which Sheila serviced several men while Bernie watched.

I learned nothing on this trip if not that penises are as unique as snowflakes. Extremely hungover, Scarlett and I spent the next day swimming and sunbathing.

Being in the pool at Desire was like being the human manifestation of Saturn, surrounded by a ring of dongs. It was a buffet of naked men, all with vastly varying penis sizes.

The crown jewel of the pool scene was a rather rotund man in his sixties with a truly astonishing Prince Albert a penis piercing, for the uninitiated.

After two nights at Desire Riviera, we were off to the second location: Desire Pearl, about 20 minutes away by taxi, on another part of the coast.

This hotel is smaller and much more romantic, geared towards nudist couples who just want to be naked with themselves, rather than sex partying and swingers though that is a component.

We were assigned the penthouse I know, so bougie. We loved it. We had a terrace that overlooked the ocean, a marble bathtub that was basically invented for Instagram, and our own personal hot pool.

Not exactly the most humble of experiences, but certainly blessed. A little up there, but this is an all-inclusive resort; all the food, drinks, and fun are free.

We began our stay with a couples massage from two sexy masseurs. But I was entirely wrong; No happy endings were had though Scarlett later told me she was having the exact same thoughts.

The spa—and the hotel in general—is not that kind of place. Our second-to-last night, we knew we had to rage out.

We decided to just play into the twin theme that had followed us everywhere. At the disco, we met an incredibly interesting Dutch couple who had been together for nearly 25 years.

We drunkenly ordered pizza to our room and invited them upstairs. We chilled in the hot tub naked and talked all night long about life, swinging, and non-monogamy.

It was the bonding experience I never even knew we needed. Scarlett seems a refreshed version of herself, more comfortable in her own skin. I feel like a whole new woman with a whole new lease on life.

We had the time of our lives and rehash the adventure almost everyday. We will be regaling our family with stories of penises, stripper poles, and the orgies seen for many years to come.

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