“See how he likes becoming one of the people rich assholes like him try to bully into submission...and I have just the idea..’ ” Kathleen’s mouth crooked with a mischievous smile as she eyed the protest demonstration across the street.
The crowd was extremely agitated; holding placards and jeering outside the Mayor’s office. Among. The raucous brigade of protestors made up of a mix of young men and women dressed in punk, counterculture and hippie garb with a considerable number of them Sioux Native Americans from the local Reservation, they had all come to oppose the construction of a redirected wastewater pipe that would dump polluted water into the nearby river. One of the Sioux protesters emerged to the front of the throng of people, leading the chanting; a young girl in her 20s with hair like coal and fiery temperament to boot, she roared like a lioness, her smokey voice booming into a megaphone. The gathering had scavenged a milkcrate and she leaped up onto it, grabbing the demonstration’s full attention.
Kathleen could see her clearly now; she was wearing a taut black tank-top that bared her midriff, an old army jacket tied around her waist and a pair of ripped skinny jeans with a ratty pair of old skate shoes. Her long hair was threaded with beaded braids, loosely done up in a half ponytail as it whipped in the wind, giving her a bewitching aura. She sneered, her strong features radiating a righteous anger and pride in her conviction; her home and heritage would not be trampled on, in the name of profit and colonialism. “Fuck GlobeTek! Fuck the Mayor! Fuck Big Oil!” The young firebrand now in full view, Kathleen had to confess she was very attractive. The charismatic native woman had had her nose and ears pierced and she was wearing leather string necklace with a feather charm pendant. As she whipped up the people into a frenzy she clutched the pendant in her fist, holding it to her heart as he poured out her fury. The mob shouted in riotous agreement with one man cheering, “Yeah, you fucking tell em, Kenda!”
Toby’s followed Kathleen’s gaze to the protesters, “oh...that would be perfect.” Just as Toby finished speaking the box oozed an ethereal smoke, a serpentine wraith almost invisible to the naked eye slithered around Kathleen and Toby’s feet as if it was studying them, it paused, as if it had read Kathleen’s mind and bee-lined to the glass door of the gym to the crowd outside. The spirit squeezed through the air gap at the bottom and swooped up into the sky, it gleaned ever so slightly in the sun, like an oil-slick miasma as it hovered over Kenda and the Sioux cheering her on; harvesting the energy of the group as streams of oily filament like spiderwebs collected into a churning mass. After a few seconds it double-backed towards the gym at a violent speed straight towards Toby and Kathleen, Toby flinched, “F-Fuck.” watching as it passed over both of them and bolted towards Brad behind them. The Spirit collided with Brad violently, the smoke ensnaring his huge frame as it knocked him to the floor, Both of them looked at one another before scrambling to the glass door, Toby lugging the hefty antique box in tow.
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Brad had been taking a break on the benches, drinking from his water bottle as his throat was parched. Brad grinned to himself, wiping his mouth dry as he watched the older man he had insulted hurriedly pack up his gear with his head low. He tossed his empty water bottle on the floor and went about leaving himself.
Suddenly, a heavy mass slammed into his back, something between a shove and a punch. Brad was winded by this invisible suckerpunch; he fell to his knees, overtaken by an unearthly sensation pulsing through his body, he felt his body thrum with a strange kind of energy. Tingles travelled down his head to his groin, becoming incredibly aroused, the stimulation intensified as he steadied himself, his hand brushing his inner thigh, coaxing a throbbing boner in his shorts. Brad groaned involuntarily, the sound escaping from his lips as his face flushed beet-red, he was overcome with a foreign intoxicating lust. His brain flooded with dopamine and addled by rushing blood, he felt so woozy, he took several heavy breaths, the air around him tasted like ozone. Brad tried to fight off the heady stupour, shaking his head to stave off his overpowering eros and confront his attacker, arousal gave way to rage as Brad spun unsteadily on one knee, fist clenched, expecting to see that pathetic old man but found himself fighting thin air. His eyes darted around the near empty gym as he heard the front door slam.
“Hey! Hey! You...fucking... Ass...hole! Did... you j-just throw some shit... at me!” Brad Croaked, as he rose to his feet. “I’ll fucking...find you shitheel and sue the shit out of y’all!” Brad anger faded impotently, he couldn’t let anyone get one over him, His father had reminded him sternly of that lesson on many occasions and once again he had let slip.
Brad’s stomach was all butterflies, his legs quivered and he felt very lightheaded; He had overworked himself before at the gym, back when he wasn’t using, but this was different and he definitely never got hard before. He stumbled across the gym floor to the locker room, his legs feeling like they were made of rubber and his aching boner embarrassingly at full mast in his shorts, plainly visible to any would be onlookers -why was he so damn horny? Brad wobbled to his locker, covering his crotch as his cupped hand seemed only to tease his boner to grow harder. He tried to flip his erection into his waistline to conceal his pounding dick but it kept springing out, -God, he hadn’t felt this horny since he was a teenager. He fumbled as he grabbed his rucksack with one hand, and let the locker door slam, leaving his expensive jacket that was stuffed inside. He shambled to the front door, all he cared about was getting back to the hotel.
Brad hadn’t bothered to change out his gym clothes, his hair a messy mop, far from his usual exacting style, the loose strands still wringing with sweat. His disorientation was growing steadily, he bit his lip with every shimmy of his shorts drove him to grunt lustily. Brad could barely focus on where he was going, his sense of balance thrown off as he tried to suppress this intrusive hypersexuality. He lurched to the pushplate and put his shoulder weight against it, the glass door swinging open to the cacophony of voices. Brad looked up, his stupor dispelled, startled by the raucous mob of young native americans, hippies, punks -and probably dirty fucking communists- shoving him aside as they chase towards an approaching armoured estate car. They almost knocked him off his own feet as he was jostled by the sea of people.
He sidestepped a dirty hippie whose dreads had brushed past his face, Brad scowled just before he faceplanted into a fierce-looking Sioux punk. Her hazel eyes locked on him, sizing him up with no trace of fear at his intimidating physique, she clocked his boner, raising her pierced eyebrow at him and smirked derisively.. “Watch it, commie redskin bitch!” Brad snarled, regaining his composure, it had dawned on him why they were protesting -the pipeline, of course. The Reservation had been offered an extremely generous compensation package by the state government but of course they refused, preferring to deny jobs to hardworking american families over the same old historical grievances. The Mayor was getting hounded after forcing the court to overturn the appeal and going ahead with the construction, forcing him to move around town by armoured car. Ugh, it disgusted Brad how entitled these freeloaders were still stirring up shit hundreds of years after the Trail of Tears, I mean, honestly, they should have gotten over it.
The Sioux punk put her hand on her hips, resting them on the vietnam army jacket tied around her waist, She stood planted as the crowd moved past both of them, unimpressed by his slur, and reared her head back and spat in Brad’s face, “Piss off, you fascist cunt!”. Brad grimaced, completely blindsided by her fearlessness. If he wasn’t so furious he might have respected her strength of conviction. She leaned forward, her athletic frame pressing against his huge body, she slapped him and then glanced downwards at Brad “You wish you could fuck me whiteboy!” she laughed at his boner, Brad beamed red and became very coy as she pushed him aside. The protesters having noticed her humiliating him, jeered and booed Brad as they shoved and body-checked on his way out of the horde.
Brad’s face stung as he made his way to his hotel suite across the square, the adrenaline finally wearing off he could feel his unquenchable horniness heighten once more, his brain getting foggier and foggier. He groaned, nursing his cheeks unbeknownst to him that tan had started to spread from the rash. He massaged the skin, it was tender with a tingling sensation that strangely had yet to fade. Brad paid it no mind as he had finally made it to the lobby. The doorman forced a hospitality smile, “Mr. Follton”. Brad grunted something resembling a reply, tapping the elevator button impatiently. He got into the elevator, the doors closing as he slumped against the wall, his back sliding down to a squat; he sighed, touseling his blonde hair before he straightened up. It was then he saw his reflection in the mirrored, he looked like he had spent the last 4 hours in a tanning bed, he was...swarthy. His complexion had become somewhat mediterranean save for a blotch on his face where that Sioux girl had slapped him, it was almost caramel. Brad was horrified, -what the fuck was happening to him? The doors pinged as he loped to his suite at the end of the hallway, he fumbled with the keycard before throwing himself into his room. He marched to the bathroom and turning on the light, illuminating the huge wall mirror, sure enough, his skin was looking sunkissed...