Word Count: 2031 Author’s Note: So I have this personal headcanon that Bones loves filthy limericks, but he’s too much of a gentleman to share them unless he’s really, really intoxicated. This, coupled with his horrible flirting in Into Darkness, gave me this fic to share with you. tagging @youre-on-a-starship and @outside-the-government because they both expressed such interest in the idea.
You’d heard about the legendary shore leave shenanigans of the Enterprise crew, even before you’d been assigned to her. Rumour had it things got absolutely crazy on the first night, and tapered off from there, depending on your division. Operations was rumoured to party the hardest, partly to remind themselves they were alive, you guessed. You’d been told they remembered to toast their absent friends individually every night. Science was the next most likely to go on a prolonged tear, but you didn’t find that difficult to believe. Science held within it the Medical Corp, and you’d never met a nurse who wasn’t just a little bit wild. Additionally, the science labs were full of the kind of equipment that allowed bored officers to brew moonshine. That left Command as the Cinderella squad, destined to leave before the party really got started. But it was a comparative scale, really, and you suspected with a captain like Jim Kirk, the Command division wasn’t going to be leaving the ball before the fun started.
You’d been aboard for about six months when shore leave was announced, and you hoped your liver was up to the task. The gleam in Christine Chapel’s eye suggested it might not be.
“Come on, Doc,” she gestured to you. “We should find out what they’ve been cooking in the back of the lab.”
“I don’t know about this,” you replied, hesitant. She laughed and linked her arm in yours.
“First shore leave is always the worst. Just plan to alternate booze and water, and put a hypo at your bedside. You can step whoever you wake up with through giving it to you,” she winked.
“Whoever I wake up with?” You gaped. You hadn’t been on the ship long enough to make those types of connections.
“Think of it like a rite of passage, Y/N. Eventually, you’ll make a mistake and sleep with someone on this boat. You’re better off doing it sooner than later. And better to do it drunk on shore leave. Because then you can blame not knowing people better, and too much booze,” she explained. You shook your head.
“I don’t know, Chris, that seems pretty calculated.” You couldn’t help but blush just thinking about trying to seduce any of the crew you’ve met so far. There wasn’t really anyone who did anything for you. Well, there was one person. Who was completely off limits.
“You’ll thank me for this wisdom later, Doc.” She winked, and continued to lead you through the maze of the lab until you reached the very back. “Hey, Jameson, what’s cooking back here?”
“Would you believe I’ve managed a completely flavourless 100 proof coming out of the still right now?” Lt. Jameson grinned. “We’ll have to be very careful with it.” She offered a beaker to Christine who took a sip and tipped her head, her eyes wide.
“Oh, wow. That’s smooth,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “Try it, Y/N.” She pressed the beaker into your hand and you gave her a worried look as you tilted the glass to take a sip. It tasted like water, but it burned going down.
“Oh, that’s trouble,” you commented, garnering a laugh from both women. Christine clapped you on the back.
“Stick with me, Doc. I’ll make sure you survive,” she promised.
So I get this message on SA like two weeks ago from a 29 year old. I usually don’t even bat an eyelash at men under 35 but his photos were so hot and he wanted to meet that night so I just decided to go. We went to a casual wine bar and sparks flew I am telling you guys this was the best first date I’ve ever had sugar or non-sugar. He’s beautiful, 6'2, from the south with the slightest accent and just so completely and totally normal and amazing. He had done so much even though he’s only 29!!! He’s in the cannabis industry (plus for me I like men that like drugs lol). So he tells me he’s also starting his own business and he just doesn’t have time to nurture the beginning of a relationship the way woman need to be nurtured at the beginning. He’d only been on the site for a week and tells me I’m the first girl he’s met off of it. Anyways he compliments me throughout the whole night and walks me to my car, slips the $200 meet and greet fee in my bag and we made out because I honestly couldn’t resist I was SWOONING. then he goes “so what’s next how do I see you again” and my dumb ass told this guy a per meet price $300 less than what I usually ask for because I didn’t want to scare him away. He totally agrees and we make plans for when I returned home from a business trip (my trip to see southern gent daddy). We went out on Friday night and it was so magic. He is the kindest, smartest, most respectful and charming man. He was so attentive too and made me feel like I was the only woman he’d ever seen. We went to sushi then to the club to dance a little and we had this deep talk about how much we dig each other and how this wasn’t supposed to happen and then we went back to his place and stayed up all night talking about life and I’m so goddamn sprung. He basically said you would never have to worry about a dime if you were mine blah blah blah and the fucked up thing is I don’t even want to take cash from him. He gave me my allowance that night but like this guy is the man of my dreams. The man I imagined having children with when I was younger. IM SO FUCKED UP off him I never have feelings and I feel like this could go so wrong but it looks like this could also go so right????? Ahhhh I’m scared and excited at the same time
Mardi Gras. The Big Easy was packed full of tourists wanting to experience the vibrant night life and see the raucous costumed parades. After a few weeks of cases, all the NCIS team had the weekend off. Watching Y/N enjoy the loud music, Chris LaSalle smiled to himself. Maybe it was the moonlight or how beautiful she looked under the brightly coloured lit streets, but he felt a warm feeling in his chest, it was like his heart was being stolen.
My three solid Sugar Daddy type relationships seemed so neatly summed up by our last texts (From left to right)
1. The Exhibitionist. We are great friends, the most I’ve done is watch him jerk off. Never kissed even. It’s effortless. He’s never asked for more but I do wonder if, now that we are very much friends, he’s nervous to ask because he would find it disrespectful. But what we have does seem too perfect to mess up. I’m very comfortable with what we are and I’m comfortable around him…as you can see, I sang freely around him. Something I rarely do around people unless I know them and don’t feel judged. And I don’t realize I’m doing it. And he noticed. He cares for me, I know from our conversations and how he treats me. And I care for him. He’s a wonderful man.
What I feel he needs: A companion. He works too much. He is in his forties and never been married, he wants feminine energy and loves to travel. And he’d rather not travel alone. He enjoys sharing the experience. He loves intellectual discussion and good food. Cracking jokes together and exploring the world and each other’s minds.
Our arrangement: Originally it was watching him jerk off in hotel rooms. Then we always ended up talking hours after so he offered the L.A. trip. I went. It was awesome. Now we have a weekend travel arrangement. 1,000$ each trip, he covers all trip costs as well. Currently brainstorming for our June trip!
2. Southern Gent. He’s exactly that…a southern gentleman. And he’s always generous without ever questioning it. He gives beyond what is expected from our arrangement and he does it with a smile. Kind of shy but with a touch of spunk, he’s a nice guy to his core. He also works too much and is used by his wife and daughter for his money. It’s sad. I wish he would get out of his marriage and stand up for himself more. He adores me.
What I feel he needs: Affection and attention. The man just wants a real lady. Not to be nagged but to be surrounded by youth and have an escape from his mundane life. He craves affection. He wants to be wanted and thought of.
Our arrangement: From the start, he respected my boundaries and invested his time and money in getting to know me for a few dates before we jumped into bed. 1,000$ per meeting once a month. We go to dinner and then are intimate. He also blesses me with random expensive gifts.
3. The Debater. Still new but he has been pursuing me for months since our first date. He always says finding someone hot and bright is as rare on SA as finding someone willing to pay thousands a month for an allowance. We had a second date and it’s a good fit. He’s a horndog. He’s been in this game a while. Huge thing for young, hot, smart girls. He likes to dress his mistress in designer clothes and lingerie and he’s into the “Daddy” roleplay. Very liberal but into traditional gender roles. Very dominant. A smart and challenging conversationalist. It’s quite natural. Fun dynamic. The richest of the 3. A millionaire with quite the lifestyle.
What I feel he needs: Releasing the testosterone. Living out his urges to dominate women and pick away at innocence. It’s less about the connection I believe and will be more about the sex. But he also emphasizes he only likes girls who are smart and have their shit together, which I believe deepens the powerplay. And just a way to blow all his money.
Our arrangement: Right now still platonic. Will be 1,000$ a meet as often a month as we can meet. Also buys expensive dresses, shoes and lingerie.
Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian
Tuesday 15 March 2016 14.05 EDT Last modified on Tuesday 15 March 2016 18.00 EDT
Andrew Lincoln: ‘I’m employed to go on a zombie frenzy killing spree"
Once the loveable loser Egg in 90s drama This Life, Andrew Lincoln has found global fame as The Walking Dead’s chief zombie-slayer. So how did the affable Englishman get the part? Maybe it’s down to his death stare.
Andrew Lincoln is eyeing me narrowly. I know that look. It’s the one he has been using for the past six years in the hit US post-apocalyptic TV drama The Walking Dead, before upping the body count. His character, Georgia sheriff Rick Grimes, has macheted, axed, gunned and spiked at least 150 zombies and quite a few humans since the show’s premiere in 2010.
In Britain, Lincoln may still be best known for his performance 20 years ago as lovable loser Edgar “Egg” Cook on BBC2’s then hipster drama This Life, about five twentysomethings trying to cut it in the legal profession. Stateside, though, he is renowned as the go-to guy to take out the undead trash – 14.6 million Americans watched the season six premiere last month. He is the Englishman who slayed America.
So, why the zombie death stare? It’s because I ask him about politics, a subject that sends him scampering off in the opposite direction, as if pursued by an implacable, if slow-moving zombie horde. Interviewing celebrities is often like this.
But surely The Walking Dead is richly allegorical, I suggest. The refugee crisis, resentment over immigration, Islamophobia, distrust of government – all have their onscreen parallels in the show that has made Lincoln globally famous. And Trump’s foreign-policy platform – building a wall to keep out Mexicans and refusing Muslims entry to the US – finds its parallel in The Walking Dead, in which humans build walls to keep out the undead? “I’d rather not be drawn into saying something about Donald Trump,” he says. Disappointing.
In any case, Lincoln argues, The Walking Dead is bigger than mere presidential elections. “In western culture, we have ignored death. We’re running the other way – everything is about life and youth. So, there’s something resonant about walking around with our own death masks. Zombies are the visible embodiment of death staring at us with our own faces.”
True, those death masks are made to order in a studio in California and shipped in their thousands to the set in Georgia each season to be worn by heavily madeup extras, but let’s not spoil the story.
“We’ve got an opportunity in this crazy-ass world we’ve invented – which is obviously very cool ass, bad ass, thrilling exciting, bloody, gory, scary and action-packed – to say something about what it is to be human. It’s about the undead, but it’s also about what it is to be alive.”
Asses notwithstanding, Lincoln speaks in a posh English accent, which is discombobulating, because for eight months of the year, during filming of The Walking Dead, he speaks in an American Southern accent on-set, off-set and at home in Atlanta, Georgia. Maybe his pillow talk is that of a Southern gent – he won’t let on.
“My wife and children think I’m bananas. They’re like: ‘Please stop doing that.’ It’s very unsettling for them because they don’t know who they’re talking to.” Don’t his kids speak American at school in Atlanta? “No, they’re Brits, because they like the cachet of it. As soon as they start to get a bit of an American twang, we pull them out and then we put them back in over here.”
When he flies home to Wiltshire each year, though, he undergoes a transformation akin to what happens when a murdered human regenerates as a zombie: Andrew Lincoln becomes Andrew Clutterbuck.
Born to a South African nurse and a English civil engineer in 1973, young Andrew was told to ditch Clutterbuck by his first agent, because it made him sound like a hobbit. Advice that, given the Postlethwaites, Cumberbatches, Spalls and Broadbents who bespangle the Brit thesp firmament, seems dubious. But still, he tells me, the identity change is useful for him to guard his privacy. Even his credit card reads Clutterbuck.
Twenty years ago, only one year out of Rada, Lincoln was made when he got his big break on This Life. “There are certain roles in my career that make you scream out loud,” he says. “That was the first without a doubt.”
On one of the first days of filming, he was required to come out of a shower and get it on with his screen wife, Milly (Amita Dhiri). “I was really committed and everybody was really in the zone. But the shower was cold. And I was doing it wrong.
“The director came up to me after the first take very respectfully and said: ‘It’s like you’re in Ballet Rambert trying to dance to get the towel. Can you just get out of the shower normally?’” The scene impressed his mates, but for the wrong reasons: “A buddy in Bath texted me and said: ‘Just watched the episode with you and Amita. That’s one of the best lesbian shower scenes I have had the privilege of witnessing.’”
Did he like Egg? For all that the character fails as lawyer and cafe owner (and supports Manchester United)? “I love him! He was a sweet-natured guy and he spoke to a lot of people who had come out of university and were stuck in a rut and were re-evaluating what they wanted to do and believed in.”
According to Lincoln, when the actors hung out together off-set, they couldn’t quite forget the roles they were playing: “We used to socialise a lot, as we were filming as a gang. Everybody would come up to me at nightclubs because they liked Egg and they hated Jack [Davenport, who played Miles, the posh twerp with a calamitous sex life]. They thought he was a dick. Jack was like: ‘What’s going on? I’m really a nice guy.’”
The 2007 This Life reunion show, in which Egg became, to my mind, an unacceptably successful and smug novelist, bombed. (“Maybe it would have been better to leave Anna, Egg, Miles, Milly and Warren in their graves,” wrote the Guardian’s Sam Wollaston at the time.) “I don’t necessarily read critiques and I don’t judge that as a reason not to see it,” he says. “I mean, it was very nice to see everybody, but I’m not sure we’ll be doing it again.”
Nonetheless, the series gave Lincoln’s career a massive boost. “It gave us leverage and notoriety and access to meetings. It also gave me two years’ experience in front of camera after three years’ theatre training. It made me understand why there are so many people on set, looking at you and touching you.” Touching you? “People are always invading your personal space on set, especially on The Walking Dead.” They’re forever smearing him with zombie viscera, he explains.
I glance sidelong at this London-born, Bath-raised, Rada-trained actor, looking fruitlessly for the ghost of Edgar “Egg” Cook. How did this genial 42-year-old, who today looks good carrying off designer stubble and even a mini-mullet without it going early Michael Bolton, get to be the face of one of the millennium’s most successful US dramas?
Until 2010, after all, his CV was crammed with unremittingly British stuff – not just This Life, but probationary teacher Simon Casey in C4’s 00s dramedy Teachers, and turns in Britflicks such as Richard Curtis’s Love Actually and Made in Dagenham. How did his career switch so dramatically? Lincoln says he was lucky enough to look haggard after the recent birth of his second kid when he auditioned for the role of Rick Grimes. “I hadn’t slept for three days, and I was shell shocked. I had this apocalyptic chic that probably fitted the bill. I looked like I’d survived a zombie apocalypse.”
Frank [Darabont, show creator and director of The Shawshank Redemption and Green Mile] wanted the Gary Cooper of High Noon, a classical leading man, very moral, almost gentle and quiet. But he also wanted a family man, so the perfect storm of meeting someone who had just had his second child was really appealing to him.”
When he got the part, Lincoln signed away a chunk of his life. “You have to sign a standard Hollywood contract of five or six years. Generally, a show doesn’t go past one season, so it is a matter of hedging your bets. But we [he and his wife Gael Anderson, daughter of Jethro Tull frontman Ian Anderson] did have that conversation while our child was screaming during a night feed, and decided to risk it.”
“I’ve always wanted to work in America because of those brilliant east-coast political movies of the 70s and 80s – great scripts, wonderful performances, gritty urban parable.” He cites Serpico, The Conversation, The French Connection and the Godfather trilogy. “Whenever I’m losing faith in the planet I’ll get a box set out and watch those.”
It was one of his co-stars on This Life who lured him over to give it a go. “Jack was one of the main instruments in making me go to America. He said: ‘Come over here. The water’s warm.’”
As a result, Lincoln has become part of a successful British invasion of American TV, joining Matthew Rhys (The Americans), Dominic West and Idris Elba (The Wire), Ruth Wilson (The Affair), Michael Sheen (Masters of Sex), Martin Freeman (Fargo), Damian Lewis (Homeland), not to mention Lennie James and David Morrissey, his fellow Brits on The Walking Dead.
None of his compatriots, though, manage to go quite as nuts on screen as Lincoln. In a recent episode, Grimes – understandably vexed after his girlfriend and her son are eaten by zombies, and his son has his eye put out in a shooting accident – picks up an axe to vent his spleen on the milling zombie hordes. Does he really go nuts or is the scene so choreographed that he has to be controlled? “Oh, I’m going nuts. Don’t worry about that. I’m employed to go into a zombie frenzy killing spree. That’s what I do.
“It is choreographed, of course, because otherwise we would have a lot of insurance problems. We’re very fortunate that we have a lot of committed, hardcore stunt zombies.”
But what does Lincoln know? He has never seen the show. “I haven’t watched myself for 15 years, because I don’t enjoy it. There’s a lot of working parts that can change your performance in between you giving it and it going out. I just realised I’d prefer to have my own imagination about what the story is.”
If he had seen the results of his work, he might share the worries of some critics. Rick Grimes, they fear, has become less Gary Cooper and more a tooled-up nutjob devoid of a moral compass – perhaps even the show’s villain – rumoured on fan sites to be facing termination. Lincoln won’t comment on whether Grimes is going to be written out, but in any event he is now plotting his exit strategy from the show. Like anyone spearheading a lucrative franchise – think Craig as Bond, Spacey as President Underwood, Clarkson on Top Gear — he risks getting typecast and becoming frustrated.
“The fun of my job is I get to dress up for a living and play different people,” he says. That dream has been thwarted because of commitments to the show. “The window of opportunity is so small. I was going to do a play and it would have meant me getting off a plane from America and going straight to rehearsals, doing the play, getting back on plane and going straight back to America. I couldn’t do that. My No 1 responsibility when I’m not slaying zombies is being a parent.
What does his wife do while he is taking out the zombie trash? “Everything. She’s the reason I’m able to do this mad job. She has built a life in Atlanta while I’m away filming. I don’t have a smartphone or apps or anything and people ask me why. I say: ‘My wife is my app.’ She’s magnificent. She’s in the most honourable profession in the world – she’s a full-time mum.” He glances at the female PR across the room for approbation and says unexpectedly: “Fight the power!” Quite so, although if I compared my wife to an app, I’d be sleeping on the sofa tonight.
Lincoln doesn’t do social media either. To keep the madding crowds of fans at bay? “I’ve got nothing to say and I’m just too busy. But I don’t get it – people taking photos of their own food? That’s very odd behaviour.” The PR woman gently objects that she does just that. “Oh God! That’s why I’m not on social media – straight away you’ve isolated half the world!”
Does Andrew Lincoln have what it takes to survive a zombie apocalypse? I get the zombie death stare for one last time, before he cracks a smile. “I think my wife is the one who would get me through, probably. If I did survive, it would only be due to her incredible dexterity in all things.” Onscreen, Andrew Lincoln may be a buff, zombie-slaying post-apocalyptic survivor; offscreen, he’s as helpless as a kitten up a tree.
I’ve let this float around in my head for a week. I know it will be long. I also know that writing clarifies my thoughts and I end up seeing how I internally must really feel about someone or a situation. How much should one put up with for money? How much is acting and how much is allowing someone to lessen your dignity, though you’re aware of it? Who is using who? If you’re torn, which side is being pulled tighter?
When I first made my account on SA forever ago, only really lurking and browsing, not planning to meet anyone, this guy was very interested. Good grammar, very wealthy, looking for similar things. But I ignored everyone and gathered as much info as I could from afar. Plus, I still lacked the confidence to meet people, put myself out there and get what I wanted.
But after a lot of text tagging. A lot. We finally chatted on the phone and set up a date. Expensive restaurant, always a good sign and confirmed my intuition that he’s loaded. LOADED.
I show up, early as always and looking fierce, projecting confidence and ready to take on whatever happens…with the aid of inhibition lowering alcohol. Mind you, I don’t know what he looks like, never asked but I enjoyed the conversation and his pursuing of me that I figured what the hell. If I had asked and he refused, that’d have been a red flag. But I really could care less for a first meeting and personality can go far with me. In he comes and yes ladies, he’s very unattractive. Overweight, bad double (triple?) chin, bald (can sometimes be lovely like Bruce Willis but not this time), one lazy-ish eye. The good? Deep voice, tall. Now, I know myself very well after the shit I’ve grown through and the woman I’ve become in the past years of self-discovery. One of my strengths is body language, knowing when and what to say and hiding how I really feel in my face. And reading others. I can read you like a book from your words and actions. I’ll piece these things together and draw accurate conclusions weeks before they reveal themselves. I was super genuine and kind. I could tell he was initially overcompensating because he was a touch self-conscious about his looks. Now don’t you think for one second that means he was shy. He was the other direction, flamboyant and boisterous and a bit all over the place. We are walked over to our table and I’ll tell you my first turn off, though it’s not necessarily a warning sign but it did stand out: he didn’t pull out my seat for me or take off my jacket. He just sat down quite quickly (perhaps nervously?) and opened the drink menu. This stood out mostly in contrast to “Southern Gent” because he has done this for me in all three of our dates, and he always says I look beautiful when he greets me.
Alright. Date time. Here we go. So he dives into talking about his HUGE champagne and wine collection. He has a cellar with thousands of bottles of champagne. I can tell he’s being honest. And he orders a bottle of champagne for us. I can’t remember why I felt this way but I recall he could have treated the waiter a touch nicer. How people treat wait staff is always a huge indicator of who they are. We dive into convo. And by “we” I mean “him”. Smile and nod. Giggle and agree. Or, if you’re me, try to interject occasionally with wit, questions or confronting an opinion of his. Things I learn rather quickly in the beginning of our three hour date which all confirmed themselves throughout.
EGO: This man has a huge ego. Many wealthy men do. So the question becomes, is it inflated on the first date because he’s trying to impress me or is this something that won’t go away or lessen to a manageable extent? I ain’t stroking that thing. There’s bound to be internal eye rolling at many comments but how much are you willing to put up with? This is just an overall vibe I get from him. I don’t think it will lessen if we continue.
Smart: He’s very intelligent, though he doesn’t always go about it in the right way. He can see logical inconsistencies in others but I doubt he’d recognize them in himself. He had a way of lessening my opinions and shutting them down when I’d speak up loud enough to be heard. He even called someone I made it clear that I idolized a “loon”. What the fuck, get some manners.
Misogyny, women as property and meat: Oh man, where to start with this one? More details later. Little hints of it throughout dinner.How he spoke of his submissive wife and how he can sleep around but she can’t. How he commented on my breast size ON THE FIRST DATE. After saying I’m extremely gorgeous and even prettier than my pictures, he guessed I was a 34 D unless I was wearing a “really good push up bra”. And after I was being “feisty” with my opinion on something that differed from his and he probably had no comeback he commented that I’ll be “over his knee in no time”. Now, I’m VERY submissive sexually. Not into vanilla sex and this would be hot to hear from someone I knew and trustedbut on a first meeting it made me gag inside.There were also many other comments here and there on monogamy and past relationships that gave me insider views on how he views women in and outside the bedroom. Self-centered: Really though. I’m not even exaggerating when I say that he asked maybe one or two questions of me. He just talks and I have to speak up with questions or my own thoughts and stories. He will shut me down instead of inquiring further about me. Pretty sure I could have just sat and been a pretty face the whole time but curiosity always demands I speak up. He didn’t seem used to this and commented he was “intrigued” and that I seem to really “observe the world”. It was as if all he’s used to is pushovers and being the boss of everyone. Doesn’t quite know how to respect other’s (or maybe just women’s?) opinions. There a better way to disagree with someone than he knows how to. I felt the desire to put him into his place almost constantly. Had to bite my tongue. Filthy rich: Business owner. He makes 3 million a year. I verified this. He has a lot of money to blow. Talks of houses he owns and his cars and adventures. Expensive taste. He has a townhouse downtown he hinted we would be meeting at. Daddy issues: If you shift your tone or body language when you talk about a certain subject, or avoid it in some way when I inquire further, I can learn a lot about you. And this is what happened when he said that he doesn’t have a relationship with his real father. Now Freud was on to a few things, more than modern psychology may acknowledge or care to recognize. This bothers him more than he would outwardly admit. I just know it from how this came up and how he handled it. Lingerie and Champagne (and allowance!): His vices. He loves Agent Provocateur and Prada. Owns too much champagne. I’d be dressed well, go shopping and I’d be drinking well and go home with 1,000$ each intimate meeting, 2-4 times a month.
MORE STANDOUT MOMENTS:
***Midway in our date a bartender walked directly to me with strong eye contact while putting on her jacket to leave and said, “I had to let you know. You are a very, very intelligent woman.” She clearly had been listening to me arguing with his opinions and him belittling me a bit. My mind is a touch foggy from the champagne and wine at this point but he manages to turn this compliment aimed at me towards him. NO LIE. He did and I was in shock. I forget how he worded it but file this one under ego, misogyny and self-centered.
***He said he could “turn me into a lady”. I said, I already am a lady and he said no I wasn’t because when my fork fell off the table I said “fuck”. *Eye roll* Really? A word disqualifies me from being HIS IDEA of a lady.
***Here we go. The end of the night. He walks me to my car and tries to kiss me. I turn my head and say, very clearly, “I do not kiss on first dates. I don’t break this rule.” HE TRIES AGAIN. And I turn my head again. He giggles and says OK. Then he smacks/grabs my butt real quickly and says we are bound to have fun and he gives me 100$.
***I ate Cedar salmon and wine sauce potatoes and split a bottle of wine and bottle of champagne. He didn’t ask if I wanted dessert which actually made me mad cause shitttttt I wanted something made of chocolate. I was gonna speak up but it looked like they were closing and the waitstaff was probably wanting to leave anyways.
So there you have it. Wow, I guess my true feelings came out in writing. We definitely had an interesting dynamic and I know he’s attached and the caveman in him wants to cage me since I’m “different” to him. Here’s the torn part. I’m aware of his downfalls and how he really feels superior to women at his core, but how much would I be willing to put up with for money and spoiling? Do I hold my nose? I can tell I’d be having the type of dirty, painful, degrading, powerplay sex I like and can be drunk during it and get plenty of money and gifts. And I haven’t met with enough men to know the extent of these issues within the SD pool. Southern Gent is a rarity, very submissive and the opposite end of the spectrum as “The Debater” is. The ball is in my court and I just don’t know what I’m willing to put up with. The offer is here and the search is no fun. Do I settle? Is it settling? Is it just the pitfalls of the job? He’s not dangerous in an outright way and I’d love to milk him for all he’s worth but I wonder if the grass is greener somewhere else, with someone not as rich perhaps but who respects me more. I just don’t know. I’m teetering back and forth depending on my mood. I may meet up with him one more time to teeter further one way or the other, but I’m even debating that. He’s already asked to grab drinks one night and I just stare at the text unsure how to respond. I know the decision is up to me but any opinions or musing you all have on these questions, lessons you’ve learned or this story are always fun to read.
Exorcist AU where Fiddleford calls one to take bill out of Ford. That exorcist turns out to be Stan, who may or may not really know how to exorcise demons. (Hey, have to make money somehow)
STAN SHOWS UP IN A FAKE PRIEST OUTFIT AND EVERYTHING!!!
Oh my god!! he shows up with this smile and a bible under his arm that isn’t actually a bible, just like, a phone book that he made a ‘fake’ bible cover for and really the whole thing is a sham but it makes him good money because people are always willing to pay a pretty penny for things like exorcisms (and ya he has actually run into a few…situations with ghosts but he doesn’t think about those very often)
and then this southern-gent sounding man calls him up in a panic and he thinks ‘quick cash!’ and so he packs his bags and heads up and Fidds answers the phone and Stan KNOWS his lines and moves and then he sees the guy that Fidds has ties up and….
proposal hc (part 1 of 3 of the great zimbits wedding hc)
so obviously our boys get engaged right
this would be after bitty’s graduation
in fact, bitty would propose to jack at his party
because jack is taking his sweet time on asking, and bitty is getting impatient with his big lug of a hockey star boyfriend
and it’s not in front of everyone bc, despite jack being a professional hockey player that’s in the public eye all the time, he still likes his privacy
and bitty knows this
so they go into bitty’s room at his graduation party at the haus
and jack kinda just thinks that they’re going there to do the dirty bc he wasn’t thinking in the least bit that bitty would propose any time soon
esp because HE, jack laurent zimmermann, wanted to propose to his boy
he just hasn’t had time to go get a ring yet
so yeah our lil baby jack is completely clueless
bitty puts on the song single ladies by beyonce bc obviously he’s putting a ring on it
but it’s beyonce so jack won’t really think much about it
jack sits on bitty’s bed and is wondering what trouble he’s going to create for them
and is super surprised when bitty gets down on one knee and tells him how much he loves him and how lucky he is that jack is in his (bitty’s) life
and there are tears in jacks’ eyes already
and in bitty’s
basically it’s a big cry fest ok and bitty hadn’t even asked the question yet
so he asks and jack ofc says yes
and they kiss for a long while
til shitty comes banging on the door telling them to stop fucking and come back to the party
jack and bitty turn a little red but they just laugh and wait a few seconds before leaving the room and going downstairs where their families and friends all were
ransom, holster, lardo, and shitty (obviously) all came bc bitty is their favorite person left at samwell
(besides chowder, dex, and nursey, but they aren’t graduating are they)
the only ones that know what went down are the parents of the grooms-to-be
bc, like any southern gent, bitty asked permission
and he also needed help from his mom to pick out a ring
(momma bittle 100% proposed to coach and you can’t tell me otherwise)
bitty and jack walk downstairs hand in hand, which isn’t unusual so no one really bats an eye
until bitty turns off the music and asks for everyone’s attention
and altho jack doesn’t like big and public, bitty wanted all of their friends to know from them RIGHT AWAY that he put a ring on it
bitty tells them all (he emphasizes that HE, eric richard bittle, asked) and they all cheer and hug the happy couple
ransom passes holster a 20 while this is happening (after they get their hugs in ofc)
remember that part about jack not having a ring
that was a lie
he does have a ring
and he was gonna propose in front of everyone bc he knows bitty would LOVE that
bitty just was more impatient than he was
so while everyone is still around and listening to them, jack drops to one knee and gives this really fucking cute speech, with parts in french and english
(it turns out that jack is a really good french tutor when bitty lets him. bits picks up a lot of dirty words/love-making words while they’re in bed together)
cue the waterworks again from both of them (and the zimmermanns) (and the bittles) (and shitty) (and chowder) (and literally everyone alright)
oH oh oh and the rings
the ring bitty got jack has a thick silver band with pearls inlaid in a small strip that goes around it and it’s inscribed with “i love you to the end, and even after”
but the ring jack got for bits is this gorgeous averge-sized golden band that appears simple on the outside, but on the inside, there’s an engraving of jack’s heartbeat, and the words “it beats for you- always”
and they clearly represent the one giving the ring so it feels like they’re carrying a part of the other with them
Ladies. Ladies. Ladies. We work for our money. Good gracious I deserve the pint of ice cream I’m devouring right now. Okay, now that that’s out of the way… I meant to check in before this date with you all and ask advice about first intimate encounters but my emotions are out of this fucking world right now and I can’t seem to calm down or organize my brain or care enough or… I don’t even know. I’m a walking conundrum. Anyways, another story for another time. I’m a bit tipsy. Date story time.
Fourth date. It was looming that we would be intimate since our last date. I was finally comfortable. “Comfortable”. Really, I just wanted the money. Sex for money. The strange, uncomfortable, “immoral” taboo that would make my religious parents weep and curse God asking what they did wrong with my upbringing and then they’d dig their own graves and die because it’d be better than living with the fact that their daughter had sex for money. But here I was, approaching this date with that information continuously waving around in my thoughts. Mind you, I’m someone who is VERY VERY picky about who I have sex with. Personal choice. I can count everyone on my two hands and the majority were one or two time drunk mistakes in the early years. Now, “casual sex” isn’t in my vocabulary. I need a big connection. Physical and wholly mental. It all has to be there. Went two years without it. Masturbating is as casual and necessary as brushing my teeth. And here I am, about to drain my already depleted introverted resources to put on my acting face and have sex with someone who I wouldn’t choose to have sex with.
So, our date is a big show that’s in town. The tickets were apparently $300 each. He says he will meet me in the lobby. On my way there I was so freaking sad and oddly numb. Sad about this boy “blondy” that I don’t care to explain right now because that would take a novel. I’m also sad about things I can’t seem to put words to: life, lies, memories, loss of innocence and the sadness that sometimes covers rainy, cloudy and cold days. I always arrive unnaturally early because it’s a huge fear of mine to not be courteous and show up late to a date. It comes to be 5 minutes until showtime and he’s nowhere and it’s bitterly cold; they won’t let me in the door without a ticket. It’s odd but we only email each-other and he doesn’t have my number so I email him that I’m there and don’t see him anywhere and I give him my number to call me. LONGEST 5 MINUTES OF MY LIFE. You guys! I was questioning every decision I had made in my life leading up to this point. It’s complicated but visions of this boy I think I may love, blondy, were going through my head; I wanted him to come save me from what I was about to do. I was convinced that I shouldn’t be having sex for money, that the whole sugar thing was a mistake, that I’m too innocent for all this & my parents taught me better, that I should be making my own money at a 9-5, that I should start a business, that I should leave and never look back. EXISTENTIAL CRISIS, well, more like all my daily typical crisising jam packed into a single moment. It was all consuming when looking around. The show started and I didn’t know what to do. 1pm. I sent another email and sat inside will-call because my nose and fingertips were frozen. I knew he wasn’t the type to just ditch me, especially since we had confirmed our date an hour earlier. So, I waited when I wanted to leave and end the anxiety and turn my phone off. But 8 minutes after 1pm he called. Now, mind you I was a little irritated despite knowing that he paid $600 for these tickets and is a total sweetheart. I bet he could tell, but we were rushing to our seats that they wouldn’t even let us into until a song or two went by. BUT OMG THE SHOW WAS AMAZING. Good gracious. During the first act I just kept thinking how we were going to fuck and it was making me so uncomfortable inwardly. During intermission I used my powers to score a glass of wine to calm my nerves. He’s not a drinker at all, though I wish he was. He doesn’t seem to judge me when I drink glass after glass though. My stomach was empty so I felt it, thank God because my mind would not stop with life crisis thoughts and the looming sex. During this break he said to me, “you’re a bit of a nomad. I can’t let myself get too attached to you.” He said it so sad.
Act 2 was so much better, I was calm and could finally be flirty and grab his hand. He’s so kind, at the end of the show he said “do you want a souvenir?” And he got me some bracelets from the show. He always asks if I want something when I look or mention it, I really should ask to go shopping with him. I don’t want to use him…but he’s so easily usable. I think there’s a difference; some men just have so much money to blow and impress you and spend it to feel manly and to get in your pants but Southern Gent truly does it out of the generosity and kindness of his heart and the genuine care that I strongly sense he feels towards me. Sigh. So I feel like I’m manipulating him with my charm and words sometimes, which perpetuates guilt. But okay….where was I?
So, we are hungry. We parked in different garages and I say that I’m comfortable taking his car to a restaurant. We drive to a place which was closed and we look up 5 other places which all don’t open until 5pm. (Sidenote: a song just came on shuffle which makes me feel so sad. Why are songs so closely attached to times in one’s life and memories and feelings. It’s like each song is a pagemarker… and this one has “blondy” written all over the page.) We finally, after driving around forever, find a place. Now, let me explain Southern Gent… I’m very naturally submissive but a weird mix of confident and outspoken depending on the dynamic of who I’m with. I’m rather indecisive and it can be clear. But Southern Gent is even more so than me, I become the leader of conversations, I become the one who calls all shots of what we do and where, I say where we eat and what I’m okay with. I’ve never been on this end of things. I wouldn’t like it in a typical relationship (but LOL I don’t date and have been single for 7 years) but in a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship it is fucking perfect. I call the shots and he is like my little puppy dog.
Oh. So the wine is wearing off and I’m panicking just praying I can drink enough at this restaurant to be relaxed enough when it comes to the hotel. The place had live music and adorable old people and young kids dancing. Whenever I smiled watching them dance, Southern Gent just stared at me. I ate pork barbecue, green beans, mac and cheese, chocolate cake with ice cream and three glasses of wine (though I wanted more). I pulled him up to slow dance with me. He’s awkward, it’s cute. The words that stood out to me most at dinner was that he feels “a change, newly alive, like I have something to look forward to. It only happens every ten years or so.”
We leave. I feel like screaming but I’m so calm and collected on the outside, no one would know. Finding a hotel was HELL. This goes towards his very submissive nature of not knowing what to do. But he’s cute and makes little jokes along the way. We get lost finding this hotel. We get lost finding the next. We roam around and I’m not gonna lie, my only thought was being upset that the longer we drove around the more the alcohol was wearing off. We find one place. It’s full. We finally find another and up we go, together in the elevator to the 7th floor of a Marriott. When we get in, I go to the bathroom with the soul intention of taking the shot of rum that I packed in my purse. Welp. Here I was. It’s happening. And it did. It’s always been clear to me that he’s traditional and has lacked affection for so long in his life so I wasn’t sure how this would play out. The air was thick with tension for sure. He sits next to me on the couch and the lights are off and curtain closed, thank goodness. I wanted darkness. I needed darkness. Once it started and the extra shot kicked in, it wasn’t bad at all. We moved to the bed and he took his own clothes off. I took mine off. More methodical than anything, which is fine, I don’t want to fake passion. He’s not overweight or bad looking, average size dick, he put on a condom and in about ten minutes, it was over. Nothing crazy. Now the interesting part, pillow talk.
My suspicions are confirmed. I think he loves me but will not use the word, instead he says “care”. He has placed me in the same category as his daughter, grandkids with this type of care he has for me. Pillow talk: let me try to remember through the fog and strangeness of it all. We cuddle for a good 30 minutes and I barely talk or ask questions. It’s switched. It’s him asking. He asks what we are. I wish I could remember the phrasing but let’s just say that I know he was hinting at if we could possibly ever be more than this sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship thing. Even at dinner he said he wants me everyday and everywhere always with him. And it all clicked, I remember the way he’s hinted that it would take the right woman to leave his wife and then how he separately says that I’m always the right woman. I just intuitively feel he’s infatuated perhaps to the point of thinking he loves me or actually loving me? He said, I think I know what I am to you but what do you think? Inward panic attack. I said something like, it’s the relationship we agreed to and it’s a lot of fun. I could feel the disappointment. He also said, “every guy who meets you must want to make you their wife… you’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re kind and you’re funny and talented. It’s everything. Every man must want you.” He also said, “how did I ever get so lucky?” Ladies. This was all too much for me. I felt guilt and sadness and just an overwhelming bought of emotions. Thank goodness we were in the dark and I was being little spoon at this time because my thoughts shifted over to blondy mostly and I actually shed a tear. One tear full of emotions at the craziness of this all, it felt like I was in a fucking movie. Life is crazier than any movie script. I’m convinced. He also asked if I’d ever sleep over with him. I laughed and said I never have sleepovers with anyone, I like my own bed. That was easier to say then “yeah for 2,000 dollars more maybe?” Another question that came out of nowhere was, what would make me the happiest out of everything? He clearly wants to make me happy. We look at the time and it’s time to leave. We dress and he “makes it rain” in my purse with $1,000.
Fuck I need another drink. Or a hug. Actually both.
Met with Southern Gent for our 5th date. Second time being intimate. If you’ve been keeping up, it’s May but this counts as our April meeting. Dinner was Italian and I kept the conversation going, per usual. He also lost weight since we last met, he looked great. Only had one glass of wine this time and holy shit the best dessert ever, this berry tiramisu. Anyways…standout moment in dinner was when he asked what amount of money it would take for me to be exclusive. He always brings up how he wants me all to himself. I said I don’t want my freedom threatened but it depends on many factors like how often we’d meet. I said 3k a month probably would do it. Other moments: He’s getting a 10% raise. His wife also sounds like a miserable woman. Oh man, they have a terrible marriage. She has no job and he’s just this doormat ATM she talks down to and they are never intimate. He calls her the “ball and chain”. Dear lord never let me be this to a man. Meanwhile, I hold his gentle, generous soul in my hand. Conversation eventually turned to his 10,000$ cologne collection and how I know nothing about perfume and wear this ten dollar drug store brand. To my surprise he said “Let’s go shopping for some perfume after this.”
So we are walking past the Apple store on the way to shop and I ask if he uses a Mac or PC. We end up talking about Apple products and I mention that I’ve always wanted an iPad to make traveling easier but they are too expensive. So we end up in a department store and he buys me 700$ of perfume. I was in shock at the money he was spending on me without hesitation. I really wanna go lingerie shopping with him. I NEED to. So I’m giddy and grateful and amazed and we are walking back to his car but when we pass the Apple store he says, let’s go inside. I’m in awe since I know what’s coming. He walks straight to the iPads and gets a worker to help me pick one. And I get all of the accessories like the pencil and protection and insurance…. the total was 1,000$ and the face of this attractive middle aged guy watching us was hilarious. He knew what was up. I still feel so undeserving of all of this.
Then we went to the hotel and he made it rain 1,000$ on me in 100 dollar bills as I wiggled around in my bra and panties. It was beautiful. He “forgot” the condom so I made him go to the car and get one. He tried the “I’ll pull out” thing but hell no. Not even if I was on birth control. Nope. Sex was a lot less scary this time around, I knew what to expect. It’s nothing crazy with him. When he was done and we cuddled and talked for an hour I thought he would say “I love you” to me…. I just felt that he could say it and mean it in that moment. The first thing he said was, “I want to do this everyday, I want you to myself”. And he asked if I ever think about him like he does about me. I’m good at making him feel special but I almost feel bad and this strange sadness when he says these things.
So that was our date. We will meet again in late May. He’s a consistent Sugar Daddy.
And gave me 400$ cash.
That’s 7,200$ from sugaring this month.
I think maybe he was perhaps paying for future visits?? I don’t know and honestly I don’t care right now. So high. Yes. And another agent provocateur set!
And I’m meeting Southern Gent next week and The Exhibitionist texted me today about our weekend trip in July to somewhere on the west coast. I’m just on top of the fucking world.