Jackalope Ranch

 Lance Williams described himself the same way others described him his whole life: white-trash, redneck, worthless, drug addict, hedonist. He’d been born into it. The first time he tried meth he was five years old. His drug addict mother threw him out into the snow of a Colorado January after he’d refused the pipe. Barefoot; naked except for just a light tee shirt, he’d helplessly pounded on the doors and windows of their isolated, rural trailer. “OK! OK! Please let me back in!” Kids are resilient, and it was a miracle he didn’t catch frostbite after how long she left him out there. But no one is indestructible, and the wear on his young body from the rat poison, battery acid mix of a poor person’s cocaine took its toll. Since then he’d hardly gone over a month without at least a puff or two. His desires and actions seemed forever out of sync. His mind felt like the grinding of metal on metal where there’s a missing pad. 

It was a month away from his 18th birthday, and he somehow looked both much older and much younger than his age. He was only just 5’1’’ and 100 lb. He might have been attractive, if his gaunt, sunken eyes weren’t forever on the edge of terror. People to him, were just hungry beasts waiting for any excuse to kill whatever got in the way of their pleasure. 

He still lived in the same trailer in the plains of Eastern Colorado. “Home-schooled” is what his mother had told the government that was usually too busy with smearing the opposition to actually do any governing at all. Somehow, he’d taught himself to read in the times his mother had abandoned him there for weeks or months at a time. He enjoyed the solitude of those times, at least whenever she actually left enough canned beans and ramen for him to eat at least once a day. Those were the good times: no making drug runs right in front of police who never thought to search a child’s backpack; no handsy boyfriends of his mother who were only heterosexual until his mother passed out.

Thankfully, he was an only child. At times he could barely scavenge enough to feed himself, or barely find the space to hide himself from the dangerous people his mother called friends. Now, he was planning the escape that hopefully would be his last one. He didn’t think he could survive one more beating from his mother, or her drug dealer, or her pimp. 

After a particularly heavy bender, she passed out into what he knew would be at least a 12 hour sleep and probably closer to a 20 hour. So, he stole the little money she thought was hidden and hiked the 5 miles to the bus stop. The streets of Denver would be a hell of a lot easier than living with people who only knew how to exploit and abuse. 

He arrived there mid April. The weather was warming and being homeless in the summer was nothing compared to being homeless in the winter. He’d still sleep most of the day and keep moving most of the night. But there was a difference between comfortably scavenging and running just so you wouldn’t freeze. 

His first hot meal at Denver Rescue Mission was both where he heard about Jackalope Ranch and where he first met Keith.

“Will you be going to the Beltane celebration down on Jackalope?” An old woman asked an old man who was eating on the table next to where Lance ate.

“Fuck no! No amount of free food and booze would get me down to that commune of faggots!”

“Do they allow booze there?”

“I don’t know what they allow besides men acting like fairies. It’s not right and it’s not natural!”

“What has acting naturally ever gotten us besides debt and poverty?!”

It seemed it was a place the woman wanted to go, but somehow her partner thought whatever free accommodations that were there were not worth facing blatant faggotry. The only gay activity Lance had had was always hidden with abusive and violent secrecy. He didn’t know what he was, but he knew he wasn’t straight. A strange jealousy overtook him when he saw fancy gay couples walking their fancy gay dogs in the streets of Denver; it was their love that he wanted a lot more than their wealth.

Leaving the homeless shelter, he searched the crowd for the gayest looking man, and saw a middle aged man holding an ancient looking Chihuahua; the dog had a rainbow bandana tied around its neck.

“Excuse me, sir” Lance said in a timid voice. 

“Yaassssss?”

He seemed a bit crazy but harmless enough. So Lance continued, “I was wondering if you knew anything about Jackalope Ranch?..”

“Jackalope?! Are you going there for Beltane? Do you need a ride?”

He was taken aback. He’d go almost anywhere if the ride was free but he also wanted to know what would be expected of him after he got there. Cautiously, he continued, “I was thinking I might go there. But just wanted to know if everything there was free or what it would cost a person like me who’s broke.”

“My dear boy! You come with me! Everything will be free once you get there and I’ll take care of you until you arrive. How old are you?”

“I’m 18” Lance lied.

“Everything really would be free for you both for the festival and for after that; assuming you’ve got a cock! I’m a trans man so I’m only allowed there during the festivals.”

Again Lance was shocked. Everything about this man screamed MAN, right down to the thick brown beard. They fell into step walking together back to Keith’s apartment. Keith wasn’t much taller than Lance but he was much heavier - somewhere between chubby and fat.

“Jackalope Ranch was the first of its kind,” Keith explained. “It’s an open surveillance animal farm that advocates every animal farm should be open surveillance - cameras everywhere where anyone can watch online for free. How Jackalope does it is anyone can watch for free but you’ve got to subscribe for audio. Then they throw sober music festivals 8 times a year to celebrate the wheel of the year. This next one will be April 30th to May 2nd to celebrate Beltane; technically it’s sunrise April 30th to sunset May 2nd. There’s live music on May 1st from noon to midnight then they allow people all the next day to pack up and leave.”    

“Why do you say I’ll be able to stay for free because I have a cock?”

“Only the festivals are any-gender-allowed. Besides that it’s only a space for cis men, their rabbit proof greenhouses, and the rabbits that roam free everywhere between them. They do a lot of digital marketing for anyone who wants to buy a pet rabbit online, then they turn the excess rabbits into rabbit stew that they also sell online. Most of the permanent residents there are vegetarian or even vegan besides just eating that stew. I keep asking if I can stay and keep getting, ‘your hormonal medicine is not part of the group medication’! It’s a beautiful sober space for sober men but they’re also a bunch of self-righteous cunts who think raw-dogging reality makes them entitled to transphobia.”

“Why do you go then?” Lance was on edge and suddenly didn’t know if it was safe to go anywhere with Keith.

Keith’s anger passed and he relaxed into a toothy grin, “Most gay men aren’t sober and there’s not a better free music festival in the world. And there’s hardly any sober music festivals!”

Sober… it had barely been two weeks that Lance was sober and he didn’t even dare to hope it was the first two weeks of the rest of his life. Everywhere in his life was conditional help and usually the conditions included drug use.              

“Here we are!” Keith said as they arrived at an old apartment building. “It’s just a one bedroom but I do have a couch you can sleep on.”

Over the next few days, Lance grew to really like Keith and his old dog, Buster. They shared some really good meals and Lance got used to sleeping at night on the comfortable couch. Sometimes he’d still wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, but the small, cozy apartment was just as it had been: safe and warm. Keith was very strange and moody but not at all creepy or touchy. It was great to be able to talk to someone without fear that their hands didn’t respect boundaries.

The evening of April 29th Keith told him he had a surprise for him. “Now, soon you’ll see where this is made but before we leave tonight around midnight… Let’s have some potato-rabbit stew!” He pulled out a large glass jar out the cabinet that had an interesting label with the head of a Jackalope - a rabbit with the horns of a pronghorn deer. “Put that in a pot and stir slowly as it heats. I’ll slice up some of the bread I made yesterday.”

They sat down to dinner and Lance had never in all his life had a better stew. Thick, creamy potato broth that had large chunks of rabbit, leeks, celery, and scallions; it was somehow seasoned with everything it should be seasoned with. “Oh my god… this is good.” The fresh bread was the perfect side. 

“Isn’t it?! They make several different types of stew but the potato base is my favorite!”

Just after dinner they went to visit a neighbor who cared for Buster while Keith was away. Then Keith took a short nap while Lance stayed up just cleaning and pacing. He was too excited to sleep.

They left just after midnight that night in Keith’s old, blue Tacoma. The truck bed piled high with everything they’d need, including an extra tent for Lance to have his own. It was a 9 hour drive to the Zuni mountains of New Mexico and Keith wanted to arrive just after daybreak. 

As they rode south to Albuquerque then West into the mountains, the scenery got more and more majestic. There were great plateaus and dusty sage brush scattered between red-orange dirt. As they climbed into the Zuni mountains, there were forests of Ponderosa pines, mixed with Junipers and Pinyons.

Just coming down the mountains on the west side, the trees grew more sparse and they came to the signs pointing to Jackalope Ranch. Soon, they came to a tall fence that stretched out of sight in both directions and had the same strange crest as the jar on the gate. The gate and fence came out about 20 yards before a second gate opened to the property.

“Why’s there two gates?” Lance asked

“To keep the rabbits from escaping every time the gate is opened.” Keith replied. 

“Where are the rabbits?”

“Oh, they’re all over but they usually stay close to where they’re fed. It’s about a 3500 acre property.”

“How many rabbits are there?!” Lance was getting excited. 

“Let’s ask Karl. Looks like he’s working the gate today. Hello! Karl!”

“Welcome back, Keith!” Said a handsome man with a friendly smile. “Who’s this you’ve got with you?”

“This is my friend Lance. He wants to know how many rabbits you keep here.”

“Welcome Lance. It’s usually about two million, but it depends on the day. Are you 18 or older?”

“Yes, sir. I’m 18.” Lance felt bad for lying but there was no going back now. It would be true in less than three weeks!

“Perfect. Just sign this liability waiver,” Karl passed him a paper on a clipboard. “It basically says you accept responsibility for your own safety.”

“Could I not do that if I was 17?” Lance meant it to come off as a joke but Karl was not amused. 

“Not according to the state of New Mexico you couldn’t.” But his seriousness passed and he smiled again when Lance handed him back the signed paper. 

“What should I sign?” Keith teased

“Oh, we’ve got all your signatures on file, Keith!”

“When are you going to let me stay here as a resident?!”

“Come on Keith, if it was up to me I would, but it’s not my decision.”

“Yea, yea, yea! Alright, see you inside.” They drove into the enclosure. The first gate closed behind them, and the second one opened for them to drive on through. 

They drove slowly as they got closer to the compound. The closer they got, the more rabbits appeared. They were huge! Almost twice as big as Buster. Most ran out of the way of the car but some had to be honked at before they slowly walked to the side. They pulled into the parking lot that was already beginning to fill.  

People of almost all ages, shapes, sizes, and colors were pulling camping equipment out of vehicles and beginning to hike to find a camp spot. It was amazing what people showed up in the middle of nowhere when the only requirements were to find your own ride and bring your own tent.

“The most important rule,” Keith said, “is no violence on the land.” They slowly pulled into a parking spot. “Now, it’s not violent to assume someone’s gender, but it is violent to intentionally misgender a person after they’ve corrected you.” They parked and got out to get the tents that were neatly packed in last to be pulled first. The slightly older, shabbier tent that Keith was lending to Lance was still one of the best tents he’d ever seen. It would be different, to camp so intentionally where people actually wanted him to camp. 

“This way to some good spots! Unless you want some time apart and find a spot away from me?..”

“Oh, we’ll have enough time apart I’m sure! I’d still like to camp next to your campsite if that’s ok,” Lance replied with a smile. 

“You’re welcome to, of course. I’ll mainly be hanging out but possibly might be cruising for sex! Haha, don’t come a’knockin if the tent’s a’rockin! Ha, it sometimes seems these festivals are just bi cis men hooking up with bi cis women, but there’s sometimes I meet people here more interesting than that.”

They walked the trail to the campsites and walked between some really beautiful buildings. There were 3 or 4 story greenhouses that Keith told Lance sometimes went just as deep or deeper underground as they were tall. An absolutely beautiful public kitchen had a large cistern next to it where two different wells pumped water into. There was a bathouse with many outdoor showers on the outside of a building that also had indoor showers, saunas, and a large indoor pool. And then many one-room tiny homes that were the private residents of the long term residents. 

After they set up their tents and got their things to the campsite, “Go!” Keith said to Lance with a shooing motion that was gruff but kind, “Go and explore! I know you want to.”

He thanked Keith another time for the ride, then pretty much ran to the pool. The only primitive thing about the place were the long drop outhouses that were everywhere just close enough to be convenient but not too close to anything. Besides that there were solar panels on every roof and electrical outlets outside every public building. The greenhouses had walls of tempered glass; some had glass roofs; others had solar panel roofs and the glow of UV lights from within.

The pool was under a rainbow of stained glass that featured allsorts of ocean and merfolk murals. It was only after he got there that he remembered he had no swimsuit and no towel. That’s when he bumped into a tall, well-hung black man in his early 20’s. Lance knew the man was well-hung because the man was gloriously naked.

“Oh! Excuse me!” Lance was trying not to stare at the largest penis he’d ever seen in real life.

“Oh that’s! OK.” He reached out a hand for a handshake. “I’m Dallas. What’s your name?”

“Lance” Rabbits playfully hopped around their feet, but Lance couldn’t move. He felt like a rabbit in headlights.

“You coming for a swim? You know it’s clothing-optional, right?”

Lance left his shabby clothes in one of the lockers and had an amazing swim with Dallas and Dallas’ friends. All of them were naked, inviting, and kind. For the first time in his life he wasn’t insecure about either his looks or his poverty. It felt great to be with people who actually saw him as a person and not just something to use or someone to step over. 

It was a beautifully warm day and they all went for a walk after. Dallas pointed out large metal eagles and owls in the trees that were both cameras and scarecrows for the real birds of prey. There was also the occasional robot rabbit that hopped among the real rabbits. The online viewer had all different sorts of packages they could purchase; the most expensive included the mobility and private camera of a robot rabbit.

Lance couldn’t be bothered with the cameras at all. He didn’t care at all who looked so long as he got a say in who touched; he’d always been that way. He didn’t feel like he was much to look at and wasn’t really listening when Dallas was explaining the different payment packages for the performers of sex shows. His tent and the outhouses were private, and that was good enough for him. 

That evening before the evening meal, everyone on the land had a wonderful heart circle where everyone held hands in a circle as each person introduced their name and pronouns. The occasional person followed their name with, “He, She, They” and that’s what Lance did too when it was his turn. He definitely was a “He” but also definitely didn’t want to be just a “He.” All day long he’d been wondering if it would be physically possible to bottom for Dallas or if the mechanics of it might actually wreck him. 

Turns out he set up his tent for nothing. He ended up sleeping dormitory style in one of the old greenhouses that had been converted to a dormitory for prospective residents. A person needed either all five Elder’s approval or the approval of at least 97% of residents to join. There wasn’t a man wearing the crest who Lance didn’t absolutely adore; already he was seeing himself being an active part of this community that was actively thankful for his help.  

He was up at dawn the next day and went straight to kitchen duty meal prep, then to helping serve the disabled, then to helping with the clean up after. He wanted to go straight from kitchen duty to helping direct traffic of people still arriving, but the Kitchen Top told the Traffic Top to bugger off, “I’m reserving him to help with dinner tonight, and part of the deal is I want him to relax and enjoy himself until then!” 

He explored every single greenhouse, and talked with every single greenhouse guard who kept the people moving through and kept the rabbits out. People were responsible for their own lunches, and it really touched Lance how many were willing to share with him. But of course, he went back to the campsite to have lunch with Keith. 

He got there to find Keith had already laid out a spread he was sharing with an older gay couple and another middle aged man. “Hey! How’s it goin?!”

“Good thanks,” Lance said as he sat down.

“I saw you’re already sleeping in a new residents dorm! Good for you! Do you mind if George here takes your tent,” Keith said, gesturing to the middle aged man, “Of course, he’s unprepared as always.” 

“Don’t shame me for living in the moment!” George said, gruffed, but not offended. 

“Then don’t be a burden for those who can do that and can plan!” Keith responded, equally gruff. Then both laughed, and George thanked Keith and Lance for the tent. 

They’d hardly finished lunch when the first band took the stage. Lance said hurried goodbyes and ran to the front row of the outdoor amphitheater that was between the kitchen and a row of greenhouses. The first band was bluegrass country and Lance danced like no one was watching. The country was followed by jazz that made way to pop that made way to punk. Lance tore himself away from the dancefloor to help with dinner prep; to be back to work right when he said he would. There was a rice-base stew, and a rabbit curry, and fluffy rice, and fresh salad, and fruit salad. All of it was served buffet style at the back of the kitchen. Along with all sorts of tea and lemonades.  

As Lance helped finish up dishes, a large blond man came to drop off a dish much too late to be washed in the after dinner cycle. Lance noticed immediately that the man was holding a bible like he was holding a weapon.

“Are you enjoying the show?” Lance asked suspiciously. 

“It’s OK, but it’s not what I’m here for.”

“What’re you here for?”

“I’m here to save souls. I’m a warrior of God.”

There went Lance’s good time. Instead of going back to show he now felt obligated to keep a personal watch on this fucking creep. Lance rarely knew what he was feeling, but he knew better than most what others were feeling. Keith’s anger came in flashes, similar to his mother’s, but didn’t last as long and always without any of her malicious spite. This blond guy didn’t seem angry at all but seemed to be nothing but cold, hard, malicious spite.  

So Lance kept his distance; pretended to be busy with other things, but always kept watch on the blond stranger. The man mostly just sat at the very back of the outdoor amphitheater and read his bible by the light of an electric lantern. But he didn’t get up and disperse like most did shortly after midnight when the show ended. It was 2am and the creep was still reading his fucking bible. Lance kept a discreet watch, sitting just inside the kitchen in an area that had a window view of the man.

About a quarter after 2, the man got up and made his way to the camp grounds. Lance followed, stealthy as a shadow. Always behind a tree that was just off trail and just out of sight. The man rummaged around in what appeared to be his tent, then made his way back to the kitchen building. Lance followed and picked up a throwing size rock and a bat sized stick along the way. The stranger didn’t go to the kitchen entrance but made his way to the cistern that was behind the building. He got on a step ladder and began undoing the top cap. That was enough for Lance. Whatever he was going to put in the drinking water probably wasn’t a Bible but probably was something hateful he thought the book justified. 

“Hey! Get down from there!” Lance stepped into the light of one of the fairy lights that marked a trail. The man just tried to take off the cap faster and that was it. Lance threw the rock at the man's head and hit the mark. 

“Hey! What the Gosh Darn Heck!” He got off the step ladder and began to walk towards Lance. The man was much bigger, but Lance was much meaner. Lance ran towards him, stick-bat in both hands. Before the brute knew what hit him, Lance landed a powerful hit on the man’s knee cap that sent the leg bending the wrong way with a loud CRACK.

“YEEEEEHEEEEEEEHHHHHHH!!” The man screamed bloody murder and lots of lights came on and there was the sound of feet rushing towards him.

The blond stranger was flailing on the ground and a large plastic bottle came out of his jacket pocket. 

“What the hell is going on here?” demanded an old man wearing a headband with pronghorn antlers to indicate he was an Elder. 

“He was trying to empty that bottle into the cistern!” Lance pointed the stick that he still held like a weapon at the bottle.

“LEVITICUS 18:22! WHAT YOURE DOING HERE IS AN ABOMINATION!!” The man cried from the ground, but didn’t try to hide the bottle.

The Elder picked up the bottle and read the label, “Arsenic!.. Fuck you and your false god if you think love is more of an abomination than murdering an entire community! Karl! Jonathan! Tie up this man and contact the police. Tell them to bring an ambulance.” 

This community really did have everything. Lance watched Karl cuff the man, put him on a stretcher, and lift him with his partner to take him to a detention facility to wait for the police to pick him up. Most of the crowd that gathered followed the stretcher with the criminal, but some stayed behind, including Lance and the Elder.

Now that the danger was over, all of Lance’s strength left him. He threw down the stick and started to cry. Pretty much the only rule besides sobriety was “no violence on the land,” and Lance had broken it on his second night.

“It’s ok.. It’s ok..” the Elder put a comforting arm around Lance’s shoulders, “you definitely saved some lives tonight and might have just saved us all.”

Lance kept crying as he hugged the comforting old man. Then he pulled back and unburdened himself further, “I’m not 18!.. I lied and I’m sorry! I’m only 18 in another 15 days!” He sobbed more violently than ever.

The old man had a long white beard and long, thick white hair that was braided to support the headdress that had a crown of antlers and elaborate glass beads hanging from it. His eyes were nothing but compassion and kindness. 

“It’s ok.. You had a shock, but you’re still a hero here. And two weeks! Two weeks is nothing! It would take foster care longer than that to even think about filing paperwork. We just have to keep you clothed and off camera until then. A tiny home just became empty and I’m saying it’s yours at least until your birthday,” the Elder wiped tears off Lance’s face, “we have to wait until the next festival to vote, but I’m thinking it could very well be yours for as long as you want it.”                                         

Dumbledore and Grindelwald

 It was the summer after Ablus’ sixth year at Hogwarts and he was taking a much needed vacation. His whole family could be damned along with all their drama. Let them hide and hate themselves for hiding, Albus was a star student and didn’t need his break from school to be stressfully guarding family secrets. 

He watched the countryside turn to city as the train pulled into platform 9 ¾. His excitement grew with each passing mile. It had been ages since he’d last seen Gellert, and he could scarcely wait to feel Gellert’s strong arms around him. Just about everyone else seemed like a black hole of need to Albus; everyone else was so desperate for approval they never put their own unique strength behind their own work. Gellert, though, had a self-assurance that was nearly dangerous and definitely exciting. Albus just wanted to appreciate the man, but if some fixing happened along the way so be it. Perhaps, Gellert could fix some of the secret wounds that everyone besides Gellert was all too happy to let Albus hide.

Albus, an extremely well-dressed and powerful wizard, was extremely good at hiding. No one knew how much it hurt him that his family resented him for his ambition, no one except Gellert. 

The train pulled into the station, and Albus hurriedly grabbed his carry-on bag that resembled a large briefcase. Albus was dressed in a three piece purple suit with a bright green tie. Waiting for him on the platform was his lover. Gellert, dressed in purple leather pants and jacket, had changed his shoulder-length hair to an emerald green with seafoam and silver highlights. 

“Haha! Gell! I thought we said Muggle-wear” They had a long hug and a brief kiss on the cheek.

“This is Muggle-wear!” Gellert replied. “You’re lucky I didn’t shave the sides of my head and spike up the middle for a mohawk.” Gellert picked up Albus’ briefcase to carry it for him as they strolled off the platform. 

“No, sir!” Albus briefly ran his hands through Gellert’s long hair. “I love your long hair and I love this new color!” Albus, in an effort to be more conventional, had recently cut his natural hair short. He didn’t know why he made the effort. He was already the mainstream of the mainstream who had every teacher eating out the palm of his hand. He wondered what his teachers would think of him if they knew of his two-week vacation with this man who was definitely the cutting edge of counter culture.

The first stop was the Leaky Cauldron. Gellert knew the bartender and got them a couple of bitter-beers that were slightly illegal. “Oof. That’s some strong stuff,” Albus said after the first sip. 

“Word on the street is you like the strong stuff,” Gellert teased as he took a hearty gulp from his mug. 

“If by ‘strong stuff’ you mean wordy books and late night study then the word is correct”

“You know how rare it is for someone who thinks they’re right to actually be right…” Gellert put a hand on Albus’ knee under the table. 

“Wait till we get upstairs!” Albus blushed bright red but didn’t move the hand off his knee. They better get upstairs soon before Albus threw the tables aside and shocked the wizarding world with more magic than they were ready to understand. 

Eventually, after they’d checked in with just about every familiar face and greeted a few new ones, Gellert gave Albus a wink and excused himself upstairs to the room they’d rented for the night. Albus was supposed to wait five minutes but scarcely waited two. 

‘Let them talk’ he thought as he made his way up the stairs. ‘Having to push apart the twin bed in the morning without being noisy about it was already too much hassle for the comfort of the heterosexual bigots.’

Gellert, ever the gentleman - at least to Albus, had already pushed the beds together and was waiting in the bed. He was naked except for a flat sheet that loosely covered him. Albus, with a calm he did not feel, undressed and hung his suit in the closet. 

By the time he got to his underwear he was already rock hard. The elastic band stretched near to its limit to get over the tip of Albus’ 9 inch cock. Gellert was propped to almost sitting with some pillows behind him. His hands were casually behind his head and the comfortable smile was in delicious contrast with his hungry eyes.

Albus slowly pulled off the sheet to reveal Gellert’s beautiful erection that was a little bit shorter and girthier than Albus’. Both young men had uncut cocks that hadn’t really seen another’s beside each other’s. They’d messed around but had never spent a night together, let alone two weeks. Albus’ mouth covered Gellert’s cock. Gellert’s hands gently caressed the back of Albus’ head as he found a good rhythm between gagging, sucking, and foaming. Soon the delicious cock was sloppy with Albus’ spit. Albus was getting ready to sit on it when Gellert grabbed him and threw him on the bed on his back.

“Let’s not do that just yet” Gellert whispered as he kissed Albus’ neck. “Let’s wait until we get to the island cottage.” He kissed down Albus’ body that was taunt with pleasure. After sucking Albus’ beautiful cock for about 20 minutes, he kissed his way back up Albus’ body. He gave a good amount of attention to each nipple as he kept a rhythm going on the cock with his hand. Then he made his way back to Albus’ mouth and they kissed passionately as each of their hands were gratefully using the god-given foreskin to be just rough enough with the strokes but not being rough with the skin of the head. They broke from kissing and moaned deep and soft as they both shot their load all over the other. They laughed, rubbed it in, and Gellert lay on his back again as Albus snuggled beside him. They talked long into the night about any and everything until they eventually dozed off. 

The next morning, they showered, collected their things, and made their way to the roof of The Leaky Cauldron. Albus opened the large magic briefcase that was much larger inside that out. Besides food supplies, clothes, and potions, there was a collapsable broomstick that Albus now began to assemble. 

“Are you sure that’s big enough for the both of us?” Gellert was now in purple robes that were about the same style as the midnight blue robes that Albus now wore. 

“Oh yes, my love” Albus replied - the use of the word love right between a serious tease and a serious earnest endearment. “The charms on this thing not only provide a comfortable seat for us both but also give us and our luggage invisibility.”

“Ha! No wonder they say you’re a prodigy, my love.” Gellert replied with the same endearment in an absolutely endearing way. 

Albus was slightly taller, so he sat behind. Gellert kept nestling into Albus much longer than needed to make himself comfortable. 

“Haha! Stop, or we’ll never get off this roof!” Eventually they did get off the roof. Their bags dangled securely from hooks in the front. Gellert held on to the broomstick and Albus held on to Gellert.  

They made their way across the English Channel to a forest on the southeast of the Isle of Guernsey. Deep in the forest was a cottage nearly in shambles. Albus was expert at repair magic and the old witch who owned the place hadn’t been to the cottage in years. She agreed to let Albus stay there in exchange for some renovation work. The particular witch who owned the cottage had some very special coven magic with two other witches. It hadn’t been discussed, but Albus was sure she wouldn’t mind at all that he had brought a lover with him for the stay. 

They had a romantic picnic lunch on a flat part of the roof before getting to work. Gellert tamed the wild garden as Albus realigned the beams with the foundation. He was a hurricane of very powerful magic that cleaned and repaired until just after sunset. 

Albus found Gellert relaxing on the porch, “Working hard or hardly working?”

“Fuck off man!” Gellert replied with a laugh and a smile and a laugh. “Come on!” He grabbed Albus’ hand, “Time for an ocean plunge!” He apparated them back to mid channel about five feet above the ocean. After a very cold plunge, Dumbledore apparated back to the cottage and Gellert followed shortly after.

There was a slight pop as Gellert apparated about a foot from Albus who stood in front of the fireplace he was starting a fire in. “Don’t be mad, babe..” Gellert pleaded to a shivering Albus. The fire quickly turned into a blaze and Albus couldn’t stay mad at the man who excited him much more than he scared him, at least most of the time. 

“Come on then. Do me before you do me. You know the spell.” Albus said as he began to undress. 

Gellert pointed his wand at Albus’ abdomen, “Expellius Excrementus!” A pile of shit appeared somewhere at the bottom of the ocean as Albus’ asshole became a bussy: clean and lubed. Gellert pointed his wand at his own stomach to repeat the spell on himself before putting his own clothes and wand aside.

They met in the middle of the freshly cleaned bearskin rug that was laid out before the blazing fireplace. There were no prying eyes or nosy neighbors, just a long night of loud sex that left each one filled with the other.                   

The Pee Pee Tapes

 He fucked her from behind until her legs were shaking. Both naked bodies were glistening with sweat as her moan climbed an octave and gained a rich vibrato. Vladimir Putin gave Melania Trump’s ass a good, solid smack as he pulled out of her dripping pussy. 

“Oh Fuck, I’m going to cum again,” He said in Russian.

“Cum on my tits my Lord!” she replied in Russian as she eagerly got on her knees and began to fondle her tits. “Cum on these Russian spy tits that live to serve you.”

“OH FUCK!..” the second load in 20 minutes still had a pretty heavy weight to it as it splashed all over Melania’s breasts. He collapsed into a throne-like chair that tastefully fit his traditionally decorated bedroom.

Melania, still on her knees, inched towards him. “My Lord, how long must I be stationed with that fat American pig?”

He half got up and gave her an open palm slap across the face. “Do You Live To Serve Me?..”

“Yes! Yes, my Lord. Please excuse my impudence.” She hung her head in shame. 

He put his hand under her chin and raised her face to meet his gaze, “You’ve done well with him. Soon America will be a lawless wasteland ripe for the taking… Now, get on the bed and spread your legs.”

“Yes Lord!” With absolutely amazing acrobatics she jumped onto the elaborate sheets of the king sized bed, turned over on to her back, and raised her legs straight up in the air. Slowly, just the way her lord liked it, she opened her legs to reveal herself.

Putin got on all fours like a dog and crawled towards her. He was a giving lord to his loyal bitches and Melania was one of his favorites. She deserved some expert cunnilingus.

*     *     *     *     *

Meanwhile, in a very different room, the fat American pig chased three Russian prostitutes around a queen sized bed covered in rubber sheets. ‘Vladimir is such a gracious host! How did he know just my type?!’ Donald Trump thought to himself as he playfully chased the women who were squealing with delight. Each one had platinum hair stacked high; each wore nothing but a black leather corset and black leather high heeled boots. Large breasts with perky tits were overflowing out the corsets.

“Ooof! Run faster” one said as she playfully spanked the naked ass of another she’d just run into. The third came around behind Trump and threw her arms around him. They fell onto the bed and she got her arm out from being crushed under him just in time. The other two jumped on top. The cluster fuck untangled itself and left Donald laying on his back as the three women knelt around him.

Donald was wearing nothing but American flag boxer shorts. “Let’s get off these fucking shorts,” said the one closest to them. She shimmied them down the legs of the man-child narcissist to reveal a large bush that overshadowed an acorn sized cock.

The high class hookers didn’t miss a beat in pretending it was the best thing they’d ever seen. Two sets of well manicured hands explored his body, the one holding the shorts stood at the foot of the bed. She looked at the American flag print with disgust and dropped it on the floor.

“Oh yea..” he moaned, “you sluts love a dirty bad boy don’t you?”

“Filthy! You’re filthy and we love it!” The one at the foot of the bed climbed back on to straddle Trump. She slid his tiny, erect cock inside her. She started peeing on him and lightly closed her hands around his throat. “Open your mouth, you filthy animal.” He obediently opened his mouth as her waterfall pussy slapped against his erect member. Another woman knelt over him and began peeing in his open mouth. “Say, ‘FUCK AMERICA’!” The hands tightened.

“ff.F..FU.CK.. AmErICA” he gagged out between swallowing and spitting. The one riding him let go of his neck and rode him faster as the one kneeling over him bent down to kiss his wet mouth. Then the third took her place to kneel over the traitor’s face. His tongue began to flick inside her, eager for more piss. She pushed up to give him some air, “Say, ‘FUCK REPUBLICANS’!”

“FUCK REPUBLICANS!” He tried to pull her back down to sitting on his face but she pulled away and pinched his nipples. So he went on, “Republicans are retarded sheep! Lindsey Graham is a retard faggot! He’d kiss my fucking boot after I kicked out his fucking teeth!”

All three women laughed as the one kneeling over him began peeing in his mouth.

“fff.FF..FUCK.. AmErICA! FUCK AMERICA!.. FUCK! AMERICA” he screamed between piss and laughter.

*     *     *     *     *

Like a fuckboy macho slut, Donald Trump combed his greasy hair while admiring himself in the mirror of Putin’s office. “I gotta tell you V-man, they don’t make them like that in America. The choking, and the pinching, and the dirty talk. I tell you that was some of the best..”

There was a light knock at the door as Melania came in, “Are we almost ready to go, Donald?”

“GET THE FUCK OUT, MEL. Go wait in the limo!” Donald kept gazing at himself as he yelled at his wife.

Melania let out an exasperated sigh. Vladimir gave her a quick warning glance from behind his desk. Immediately, Melania put on her brightest smile and said, “Yes, Donald. I go wait in the limo.”

Donald didn’t even wait for the door to close before he continued, “I’m telling you, Vladimir. She’s the best escort money can buy but sometimes I think she doesn’t understand her contract.”

“You’re probably right,” Vladimir lied. “She probably doesn’t understand her contract at all and is just happy to be in your illustrious service.”

“Of course! Of course, you’d think so. But she’s never in the mood after I pop my adderall and sneaking in hookers is harder after that bitch Stormy Daniels. It’s really too bad my campaign advisors keep advising me against trading her in for a younger model.”

“In Russia, this is not so hard: getting women in the mood. Winter is long and everybody knows the best way to keep warm.”

“Ha!.. I always enjoy my time here in Russia. Be sure to have those exact same three hookers waiting for me on my next visit here.” Donald turned to leave.

“Donald..” the trust fund brat narcissist turned back to face the leader of Russia. “I’m glad you had a good time, because I own you now.” Putin pushed a button on his desk and a screen behind him flickered on. 

“fff.FF..FUCK.. AmErICA! FUCK AMERICA!.. FUCK! AMERICA” yelled the recorded face of Donald Trump from the screen.

Putin allowed himself a slight smile as he watched Donny boy blanch behind his heavy orange makeup. He continued, “This is what will happen: when the time is right, I will invade Ukraine and you will do nothing. You will tell your followers Ukraine needs my strong hand and I’m graciously giving it to her. Everything I do, you will praise. Do you understand?”

“People won’t care about this!” Donald could feel his defense sound hollow and worthless. “No one cares about anything I do so long as I’m the right kind of white, rich, and stupid! People love a wolf in wolf’s clothing. Americans have a short attention span and will forgive any clown who’s rich enough.”

“You’re wrong, Donald. They love you because you’re the criminal they wish they could be, but they also love you because you say you did it all for the love of your country. These tapes will shatter their illusion of your patriotism and even the most racist christians will not pretend forgiveness is their cultural duty.”

Donald hung his head in shame. He knew he’d been beat.

“Kiss the ring on your knees then leave. We’ll keep this between us and these tapes will never see the light of day.” Putin held out his right hand. On the ring finger was a band of diamonds encased in platinum. 

‘Oh well..’ thought Donald Trump as he knelt down in front of Putin, ‘this is the private price for power.’ On his way out the door he was wondering if the deal included more piss play with those three beauties on his next official visit.    

                

Ethical Cat Food

 Heather Paulson was a big girl, and terribly insecure because of it. “Buxom Lass,” her Scottish-born mother had called her. But her older brother, the athletic football player type, had never missed an opportunity to call her “fat.” In spiteful ways, he’d check to make sure their parents weren’t listening, and then say things like, “I’ll be hungry after practice, so try to keep your fat ass from eating all the food in the house.”

Heather rarely ate past being full; she always ate her vegetables and usually skipped dessert. It wasn’t her fault she took after her heavy-set father. She ate in healthy ways, and still, she was genetically dispositioned to look like all she ever did was eat.  

So she hid herself from the world, terrified that everyone was thinking the same hateful things her bully brother always said. Thankfully, she’d not seen much of him since he left for college on a football scholarship. Heather had hated all of school except for art class, but had not been a good enough painter to pursue higher education in art without falling into extreme debt. She had barely finished High School, and hadn’t seen a classroom since then. Now, at 25 years old, she is still living at home with her elderly parents: her mother, Martha, and her father, Bob. They live in a small, one story home in the suburbs of Colorado Springs, Colorado. Both her parents were retired, partially deaf, and extremely lazy. They’d have full conversations yelling at each other from opposite sides of the house. Luckily, the house had a big backyard. Always in good weather, and sometimes even in bad, Heather spent most of her time in their backyard with her cat, the brown-black siamese mix tomcat called Shadow.

She idolized Beatrix Potter and Georgia O’keeffe. She’d spend happy hours creating detailed watercolor paintings of flowers, somewhere between scientifically accurate and sexually suggestive. The unassuming, organic beauty of flowers she loved more than anything. She’d sit in the shade of any of the four trees in their yard, and think of herself as a flower that bloomed in shade. Heather was very pale and very blonde; her rosacea would flare up whenever she thought about all the assumptions and expectations that a person had to face to pass through any doorway into any building. Even her parents couldn’t help but daily express disappointment that she seemed to have no motivation to find either a job or a relationship. 

“You’ve got to get a job my dear!” her mother would yell at her with a thick Scottish accent. “She’s got plenty of time to find a man to support her!” her American father would yell back. Then they’d continue to discuss the disappointment that was their daughter as Heather would grab a sandwich and escape to the backyard.

One fine spring day, Heather came in from weeding one of the flower beds. She saw her parents sitting uncharacteristically close together in the living room and she knew they were waiting for her. So she took off her sun hat and garden gloves and sulked into the room to find out what boring lecture they had planned for her. 

“Heather, my dear, we won’t be here forever and we worry about your safety after we’re gone,” Martha started out what was bound to become a strong suggestion and borderline order. Bob sat next to her looking resigned to agree with what Martha was about to say. “You know my friend, Patsy Ford. Her brother owns Family First Meats and has agreed to give you a position in the slaughterhouse that’s just less than a mile aways from here. You don’t seem to mind any kind of weather and the walk to work will be good for you.”

“Shadow prefers food made from fish…” Heather replied. 

“This isn’t about Shadow,” Martha’s temper began to flare. “This is a full-time job with benefits. It’s Monday to Friday, 9 to 5 and the best someone with your lack of education can hope for.”

“It’s a great opportunity, sweetheart,” Bob chimed in. “You can meet friends, or meet a man. He doesn’t have to be a rich man. We just want you to be happy.” Both her parents were clueless what would make Heather happy would not involve a man.

Martha continued, “Your paintings are lovely, my dear. But you’re not a saleswoman and paintings that you never show anyone will get you nowhere. Babysitting occasionally is not a career. It’s a big favor to us that they got you this job and I want to hear you promise you’ll give it your absolute best!”

“...ok”

“What’s that, Lassie?!”

“Ok, Mom”

“There’s a good girl. You start Monday at 9am and I want to see you out the door by 8 to be sure you’re on time.”

Monday morning, Heather was up at 7. She fed Shadow, packed herself a lunch box and had a breakfast of some granola with plain yogurt, milk, and raspberries. She sat on the front porch eating and admiring the garden she took such pride in. Why did she have to run off to join the rat race of capitalism?..

8:05 her mother stuck a bleary-eyed face out the window, “Time for you to go, pumpkin! I know how slow you like to walk.” So she came back in, rinsed her bowl, grabbed her shoulder bag that held her lunch and made her way to the grind that American sociopath sadists love to glorify. 

Her bag also contained her ancient flip phone she never used. The internet scared her and she didn’t want a portable device that connected to it. But she had a phone and a number, more as an obligation than as a pleasure. It was a free part of the cell plan that her parents paid for. Though they never cared to learn to text each other instead of yelling at each other. 

She arrived on time and was greeted by a woman with very red hair, very red lipstick, and heavy rouge on her cheeks. The foundation on the trainer’s face was thick and half a shade lighter than the skin on her neck. Heather wore no makeup as was her usual.

“Hello! You must be Marthat’s girl?!”

“Yes, m’am.”

“Welcome to FFM! We really are a family here, and not the abusive kind!” The trainer paused for laughter but Heather did not oblige. Undaunted, she continued in an aggressively upbeat fashion, “My name is Kris and I’ll be your trainer today! Do you have any questions for me?”

“Where do I start? What do I do?”

“You’ll be a hooker! Have you been a hooker before?!”

“...”

“My dear, you’ve got to get a better sense of humor. ‘Hooker’ is just a nickname we have for poultry receiving. Your starting position will be poultry receiving. Basically you open the crates and hang the birds’ feet on hooks. Follow me this way.” 

They walked down a maze of narrow metal hallways. Heather did what she could to keep her breathing even and remember the route they were taking. The smell of blood and the frantic shriek of birds was shaking her soul to the core. They got to a platform that had crates of protesting birds on the one side next to hooks about five feet off the ground moving along a conveyor belt. Another “Hooker” was already working there. He was a short bald man with thick rimmed glasses. 

“Heather, this is Tom,” Kris introduced them. Tom barely looked away from his work long enough to give a nod. “We like to have two or three people in poultry receiving,” Kris continued, “but it’s necessary to have at least one until an order is received or the birds will spoil from being caged too long.”

“What do you mean, ‘spoil’?” Heather wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

“Well, they haven’t been fed for about three days and haven’t had water for about a day. It makes them docile for hanging but it also makes the occasional chicken mad with rage. It’s never good to open a crate and find the chickens have already torn each other to shreds.” Heather’s face was a mix of shock and disgust. But Kris seemed not to notice and continued on, “Chicken are the only birds we slaughter here. It’s what the machines are equipped for. There are ten per crate and it looks like Tom here is about to open a new one. Let’s watch this one and have you help with the next one.”

Each had a wooden base with wooden frames for the sides and top that held chicken wire between. Tom worked with a violent silence as Kris narrated what he was doing and how it should be done. A crow bar was used as a lever to pop off the roof of the crate. The loose nails were thrown in a bucket to be reused. The loose top slate was put in a rack to be reused. The empty crate was stacked neatly inside a stack of empty crates. “Because the chickens have been fasting, there’s not much mess inside the crates and they wash them at a different location for reuse.” Heather couldn’t help but think “fasting” was not the right word for forced starvation. “Do you have any questions for me or Tom?”

She doubted the friendliest question could get more than a word or two out of Tom and was already sick of Kris’ relentless positivity, “Not at this time.”

“Good. Follow me to the break room where we can set down your bag and get you suited up.” Heather hung her bag in a tall locker, then donned a hair net, rubber apron and rubber gloves. “You look ready to go! I’ll be in the office if you need anything, but don’t be scared to ask Tom questions! He’s a bit quiet but he’s been here for five years and knows what he’s doing. We’re usually off at 5 but you’ll end work at 4 today then come to the office for some new-hire paperwork. We do paper checks biweekly. I’ll see you at 4!”

Heather made her way back to the slaughter platform. “You stand over here and I’ll stand here,” Tom’s voice was high pitched and nasal, “Then I’ll hang on every other hook just ahead of you. You hang on the empty hooks when they get to you.” The day did not go well. She couldn’t seem to pop off the tops without breaking them. Tom was visibly annoyed that he had to pop the top of every crate. Eventually, she got the hanging part right. Ten sets of hungry, sad eyes stared up at her in abject horror and she’d grab their feet to hang on the passing hooks. Most could barely stand from fatigue and the weight of their hormone injected bodies that grew unnaturally fast. ‘This is food for Shadow. This is how it’s done so just go along with it.’ She kept trying to reassure herself she wasn’t a monster but she felt the terror of the birds and wasn’t sure if Tom had always been so cruel or if the job had made him that way. 

“I’m going to the restroom,” Tom said after their first 15 minute break and before their 30 minute lunch break. Heather finished the crate she had and was determined to get the next crate top off by herself. With just the right amount of strength, she popped off the top successfully for the first time. Of course, it was just her luck that this crate had rogue chicken that was ready to fight. The bird flew at her face as soon as the top was off. She almost fell onto the hooks to get caught in the machine before she caught her balance and gave the bird a smack. The bird was down for half a second before it was back at her with a wild rage. In a whirl of talons and feathers it bounced from perch to perch to fly straight back at Heather’s face with the intent to scratch out her eyes.

Heather was terrified but she hadn’t lost her strength or coordination. One scratch on her face was all this fucking bird was going to get. She put all her weight behind a good smack and hit the bird mid air. The bird went flying right into the gears of the machine that were turning below the hooks. With an absolutely awful death scream, the bird was pulled into the turning gears as chicken blood spurted everywhere. The machine came to a grinding halt. 

That was it. She didn’t need money badly enough to be part of this kind of murder industry. Still shaking with panic, she put the top loosely on top of the crate that had 5 sets of scared eyes and 4 bodies that had been murdered by the rogue. She almost ran back to the break room to throw her apron and gloves on the floor, grab her bag, and leave the building without saying goodbye to anyone. 

She was three blocks away before she could breathe easy. Healthy eating was off the menu for today. She needed a sugar fix and she needed it now. Luckily there was a 7 eleven on the way home that she hadn’t been to in ages but knew they’d have what she needed. She opened the door determined to spend some of her savings she’d earned from babysitting neighborhood kids. She needed her favorite and extra of it. She got a king size Snickers and two chocolate Yoo-Hoo drinks and made her way to the counter. 

Today was the strangest day of her life. After facing kill or be killed in a metal prison, she was surprised to see an extremely beautiful latina woman smiling at her from behind the counter. The woman was very thick, almost as big as Heather, but what was absolutely amazing to Heather was the way the gas station attendant was proudly wearing revealing clothing, and the way she was smiling out of joy; not out of fear or insecurity. 

“Did you just come from work? What scratched your face?” Her voice was musical and soothing. Heather just stood at the counter for a while without remembering why she was there or what she had in her hands. Luckily, they were the only two people inside the 7 eleven and the woman behind the counter was in no hurry at all to rush Heather into making a purchase. “Are you ok? What happened to your face?”

“...yes.” Heather finally found her voice. “Yes, I’m ok. I had a work accident at a terrible job I don’t think I’ll be going back to.”

“Oh, honey. It’s ok. Don’t worry. Work sucks and you’ll be fine with whatever it is you do next.” The well endowed latina with the low cut blouse came out from behind the counter. “Do you need a hug?” Heather nodded and almost melted with joy as the worker took the candy bar and drinks out of Heather’s hands to set on the counter and gave her a hug. Touch-starved Heather could not remember ever having a better hug. “There, There… everything will be ok.” It was everything Heather could do to not burst into tears. Gently, she pulled away and wiped her eyes.

“Thank you so much. I’ve never had such a bad day turn out so good.”

The worker laughed an adorable laugh as she strolled back behind the counter. “Oh, honey. I’m here most every day it seems like. You stop by whenever you need a snack or a hug ok?”

“Ok. Thank you. I will.”

“Anything else for you today?” the attendant said in a conversational way as she rung up the candy bar and drinks. 

“How about a lottery ticket? Powerball, random numbers.”

“Sure thing, honey. Just one?”

“Yep, just one.” Heather put the cash on the counter as the worker began to bag up the purchases without even charging the additional 10 cents per bag the store now charged. 

“Thank you,” Heather said as she took her change and receipt. “I’m Heather…” Suddenly she was terrified she had been presumptuous in trying to get more acquainted than just business formality, but for the second time that day she felt a stirring in her heart, as the worker smiled back and responded immediately, “I’m Sophia”

The rest of the day, and the rest of the week, was almost as bad as that morning. Heather’s mother barely spoke to her and the pitiful sympathy from her father was somehow worse. Sunday rolled around and Heather decided that day to stop hiding in her room and get out into the yard to start a painting inspired by one of the blooms out there. Halfway into the light sketch before starting the paint, she remembered the lottery numbers had been pulled and she could check online. She set down her 12” x 12” multimedia panel, gave a snoozing Shadow a good rub, and went into the living room to start up their old desktop computer.

“You better be using that thing for job hunting!” Her mother yelled as she walked past on her way to the kitchen. 

“mmmOM! MOM!”

“WHAT?! What is it?..” Martha walked back into the living room confused by Heather’s expression.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing a job. I think I just won the lottery.”

“BOB! BOB GET IN HERE!!” and the rest of the day was confused happiness. It was decided with smiles all around that Bob and Martha would be going to the very best retirement home money could buy. The kind with an array of hobbies and recreational drugs available to residents under medical supervision of the very best doctors. And Heather, for the very first time in her life, would be independent.

She was glad for the couple days before announcing the win, because there was something she wanted to do first. The next day, at about the same time she’d been there last week, Heather entered the 7 eleven where she’d first met Sophia. This time she was wearing her very best blue dress and just a touch of soft pink makeup. 

“Hello, Heather! Welcome back.” Heather blushed, smiled, and waved, but there were a few customers in the store so Heather wandered the aisles waiting for them to leave. As soon as they were gone, she walked right to the counter, not even pretending to be there for a purchase.

“What’s up?..”

“I..” she stammered. She looked down at Sophia’s hands. The nails were natural and short; a good sign that she knew how to use her fingers for more than just pointing. “I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner this week.”

“Like.. On a date?!” Heather blushed beet red and was about to turn and run. “Haha. Si. Si chiquita. I’d love to go out with you. But you’re buying. How about tonight?”

“I’d love to buy dinner. I’d love to see you tonight...”

“I feel the same.”

“Do you like sushi?”

“Haha, girl… It's my favorite! Here…” Sophia took out a paper and pen and wrote down her number, “I’ll drive and you buy. Text me your addy and I’ll pick you up at 6.”

Heather had never been on an actual date before. She had never felt happier than she was when walking home holding the cherished phone number. She waited until she was back in her backyard, under her favorite tree, before she pulled out her phone to text Sophia.

Just as she was entering the number her phone rang with the contact saved as “Buttface”

“..hello?”

“Hey! Little-Big! I heard you had a windfall! Listen, I’ve got some business ideas and…” Heather hung up the phone and blocked the number. “Little-Big”! As in, little sister who was not so little. Her emotionally retarded brother had seriously never realized how much his teasing had hurt her. Well now he could live out his awful life with his demanding wife without getting a single cent from Heather the billionaire.  

*      *      *      *     *

Three years later, Heather was sitting on the porch of her glass castle with her beautiful wife Sophia. There wasn’t a wall that wasn’t a beautiful mix of clear and tempered glass. In the whole mansion, there was just enough room to walk between the pots of exotic flowers.

American classism became disgustingly obvious when suddenly all of Heather’s paintings were selling. No one wanted anything from her when she was just a mess of insecure needs. Now that her needs were met, suddenly everyone was eager to take what they could from her. She still found joy in painting and only did it when the inspiration struck her. 

A few miles away was a business she owned: Rooster Ranch: an open surveillance animal farm. There were cameras everywhere where anyone could pay to watch online. It was also a bed and breakfast, petting zoo, and adoption agency for anyone looking to adopt a pet chicken or rooster.

With one rooster per ten chickens, the plan was painless slaughter once a year, without any cruel caging or forced starvation, of the meanest birds. Making cat food from the mean ones; leaving the rest to live in a bird paradise.

Shadow still preferred fish based food. But to each their own.