Sighinide

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The concert was last night. What an experience! The music, the fun, the drama, and… Taylor.

“I fucked her, didn’t I?” I thought to myself. I grinned. “Hey, I fucked Taylor Swift!” And then I remembered. “Oh right, I’m her husband.”

I turned on to my left side, replaying the night before. The morning sunlight was shining through my blinds, giving them a yellow tint.

I remembered so much, but I felt as though so much more was gone. I wanted to treasure the memory of that night forever… to hold it tight and remember every detail. I knew that that wasn’t going to happen, though. Everyone’s memories fade in time- even mine.

“Oh well,” I sighed. “At least I have the program.” I scanned my room. Wait a second… didn’t I buy a program? Come to think of it, I didn’t remember having it in the car with my sister on the way home. Fuck. I must have left it with Taylor.

Oh well, fuck the program. I can get another off of eBay. I smiled. The important thing was the pick.

I grabbed my pants and rifled through my pockets. I found the pick that Taylor had given me the night before. I hadn’t even looked at it until now.

It was what I thought it was- a simple, nondescript yellow guitar pick. It looked the same as the ones I used when I took guitar lessons in high school. Oh, well, this one was from Taylor. I’ll treasure it forever. “Thanks, Taylor.” I smiled. “Thanks for everything.”

I grabbed my phone and turned it on. I wanted to relive the concert through my pictures. I smiled as I thumbed through the camera gallery. To get to the concert pics, I had to sift through a bunch of other Taylor pics, including a set of photoshopped nudes of her, and some pics of other celebrities. I didn’t remember downloading the pics, but I hadn’t gone through my phone’s gallery in about a year. I think I got them on vacation.

Despite what happened yesterday, the world in the pictures was one I could never know. It seemed so distant… yet so familiar, to see Taylor and her friends like this.

After seeing some candid pics of Dianna Agron, I abruptly and unexpectedly got to the end of the camera roll. “Wait… what the… FUCK.” Where were the concert pictures!?!?!? Something was wrong. How could they not be there? I was crushed. And angry. What happened!? I took alot of pictures- too many, actually- how could they have just dissappeared?!?!?

“FUCK. FUCK. Oh, of COURSE something happened to the pictures. Why the fuck wouldn’t it?” God FUCKING damn it. I somehow resisted the temptation to throw my phone across the room. God DAMN it.

I would need to get my sister’s pics. They would be fine, but it wouldn’t be the same. FUCK. I left the gallery to see what was wrong with my phone.

I was surprised. Somehow, my iPhone’s background had changed to yellow. And my battery was fully charged. Somehow.

What. The. Fuck?

How did all of this happen? I took alot of pictures and videos yesterday, and I didn’t charge my phone last night. None of this made sense, unless… unless…

Unless this wasn’t my phone.

The phone gave a little jingle. It was a text from Selena Gomez.

“hi taylor. how was the concert? did tom talk 2 u after?”

Oh. My. God.

Last night… during the chaos of getting dressed… I must have picked up the wrong phone.

OH. MY. GOD.

Selena texted again. “taylr? u there?”

“OH FUCK.” No way. NO WAY. What do I do? I stared at Selena’s texts. Her little yellow bubbles were scaring me.

My mind opened up a pandora’s box. What do I say? Do I pretend to be Taylor? Do I tell the truth? I can’t tell the truth. Taylor specifically said that we weren’t supposed to see each other. Do I… wait. If this is Taylor’s phone, then those nude pics of her must be real. Oh my God. And what else is on the phone? There might be stuff about me! Now I could finally know what she *really* thinks about me!

Too many thoughts. I needed to think about Selena. If I fail her text, it might be bad- very bad.

I thought for a few seconds. How would Taylor text? Would she use proper English, like me? Did she have a nickname for Selena that I don’t know? Should I even text back- wouldn’t that be a crime?

Well, I couldn’t wait forever. And surely Taylor wouldn’t get mad over a little text. I thought of Taylor’s tweeting style and texted back: “the concert was amazing. I love my fans. we’re so lucky sel.”

Selena responded immediately. “good 4 u. i can’t wait 2 tour. what did tom say?”

So far, so good. “tom had fun. he was really funny after the show. he asked me to marry him. AGAIN.” I grinned evilly. “we’re so lucky to have him as a boyf. he’s such a hunk.”

Selena responded with a nodding smiley.

My mind raced to explore the possibilites of this new situation. What do I ask next? I need information about me and everyone else. This was my chance. Hmm… she and Taylor may have personal twitter accounts or webpages that they don’t advertise to the public. I’d like to know, either way. Also… can I trick Selena and get her to send some sexy pictures?

But… I shouldn’t. Should I? I could get away with it, at least temporarily. I am way, way smarter than Selena. I could easily get something out of her. But… what am I thinking? These are my girlfriends! That would be a violation of their trust!

Selena suddenly texted. “in a meeting. txt u later.” She followed it up with a happy little yellow smiley.

I lay on my bed and thought. OK… I had my fun. I shouldn’t do any more. I needed to call Taylor.

I looked in her contacts and found Taylor’s mom’s number listed as an emergency contact. Her and Taylor were probably talking about the concert right now.

I grabbed my landline and called her.

“Hi. Andrea here”. It was her.

I put on my best professional voice. “Hello. May I please speak with Taylor Swift?”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“I need to report a problem with Taylor’s phone. She has you listed as an alternate contact.”

“Oh, Ok. Hold on. One minute.”

13 seconds passed.

“Yello.” It was her.

“Hi Taylor… it’s me. Tom. Your boyfriend.”

There was an odd silence. I could hear nothing from Taylor. Not even breathing.

“Hi Tom. Why are you calling me? How did you get my Mom’s number? No offense. But I didn’t give it to you.” Her breaths were short and measured.

“Don’t worry, Taylor. I just got it from your phone.”

“My phone.” She stopped breathing. “What do you mean? Oh. Did you hack into my phone? What did you do?” Wow. Very strange. She was clearly uncomfortable talking to me- and she was referencing my programming skills. But how did she know about that? I’ve made it a point to keep that part of me hidden from her and her friends.

I laughed to calm her. And myself. The sun was blazing into my room, and it was starting to get hot. “No Taylor, nothing like that! We just switched phones.”

“Intentionally?”

“What?”

“I know you, Tom. I love you but I know you.”

I was stunned. She was implying that I did this on purpose! ME! ME of all people!!!! I mean yes, I’ve stolen God knows how many things in my life, but I would never be so stupid as to steal someone’s phone! Too obvious. I only steal things that people won’t notice are missing until much later, if ever. And to think that I would do that to her! I only steal from companies. How could she even-

“It’s OK, Tom.” She sighed. “Don’t be angry. I understand. Just keep it. I’ll get another one.”

“I didn’t steal your phone, Taylor.”

She breathed for awhile. “I believe you.”

“I need my phone back. iPhones are too expensive to lose. For me, at least.”

“I’m sorry but we shouldn’t be talking like this. I know, I know. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have seduced you. I’m so sorry.”

“I need my phone back now, Taylor. Or else. There are pictures and videos of your concert on it. I need them. I love you and I’m not going to let you get in the way of our relationship.”

“Oh.” I could feel her softly blushing through her voice. Her cheeks were a little warm- not red, but almost. I could feel her curling her yellow hair in her soft fingers.

“And why were you afraid of me? What could I do to you, really? You’re rich and I’m not.”

“I wasn’t… scared of you. I was just surprised. And concerned.”

That made sense. I guess. I would have been surprised if I was her, too.

My mind wandered back to her phone… and the nude pics on it. I thumbed through the nude gallery. WOW. Oh my God. I could see her entire body. Her everything.

In the first pic, she was relaxing nude in a chair outside, her breasts fully exposed. She was wearing the yellow bandana that she wore in 22. The sun was shining on her, giving her a yellow tint. Her nipples were super hard, and she was gazing at me like she needed me to suck them. The next pic was of her in the chair from a distance. I could see her full body down to her toes. Her foot closest to the camera was on the ground, so I could see her vadge. Everything looked amazing. She had the best legs I’d ever seen.

I thumbed through the rest of the nudes. Some were actually funny. Others dramatic. Some overtly pornographic. Some were… weird. All were of nude Taylor. It was amazing. It was my dream gallery come to life.

And to top it off, the pics were of super high quality. I could tell. They would be lifelike on my computer. I couldn’t wait to download them.

“Taylor, do you remember everything that’s on your phone?”

“No, not everything. Why?”

“There are nude pics of you on here.” I said, hungrily.

“OH! MY GOSH! There are?”

“Yeah. And they’re awesome.” I went back to the first topless picture- the one of her in the chair. Her everything was a turn on. Her pretty blonde hair looked so soft draped over her shoulder. As I leered, I could feel the warm sun touching my back.

I kissed her. Hard. Over the phone.

“Tom!?! ”

“Stay on the line, Taylor. We’re going to do this with the pics and the sounds of our voices.”

She smiled, knowingly and sexily. “I’m already alone. Do it.”

I fucked her. Slowly. I spent an hour just exploring her body, using the moans and sighs from her voice as a guide, and the energy from the blazing yellow sun as fuel. It was the most unbelievable experience of my life. After an hour of foreplay, with her nipples weary and drained and her legs sore from being licked, I penetrated her. Slowly, smoothly and sweetly. After another hour of fun, with her sex sore from rubbing, I came.

We both exploded. Epically.

Afterwards, she sighed triumphantly. So did I.

“You’re going to write a song about this, right?”

“TAAAMMMMUUUHHH!”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll write a song about this. Thanks for the ideas.” She laughed. Then she frowned- a difficult feat, considering what we just did. “Tom… my song ideas… are on that phone. There are business secrets on it, too. I need it back. I take back what I said earlier. But please don’t mail it to me. All of my mail is opened by others and I don’t want anyone else to get their hands on it.”

“If that’s true, we need to meet again and exchange phones. There’s no other way.”

“You’re right. I’ll explain all of this to my friends so they will expect you.”

“Expect me? Where?”

“At my home… in Rhode Island.”

–

A week later, a green envelope without a return address arrived at my house. Knowing who it was from, I opened it. I could see why a green envelope was chosen- it was to hide the money. Wrapped in a pocket of $1000- for travel expenses- was an airline ticket. The green highlights on the ticket showed me my destination. Rhode Island.

What would come of this? I didn’t know. All I could do is prepare. And wait.

I wrote the preceding screed during my lunch hour at work today, before Obama made his speech. It looks like someone has been reading my twitter. Especially those infamous tweets I made during my 2012 coup attempt.

I hope that my warnings are finally sinking in, and the US establishment is turning over a new leaf. Will there be changes to our immigration policy? Will more attention FINALLY be put where it belongs- Main Street? I hope so, but given the government’s track record during my lifetime, I’m not holding my breath.

Every once in awhile, I wish that my coup had been successful. In retrospect, it was presumptuous to launch it when I did… but I was angry. Oh well. At least I scared people.

Obama is an idiot.

Whatever kind of Hell-on-Earth he is trying to create will fail, and it will likely fail epically, burying him and his ideas forever.

Modern history’s best tyrants- Hitler, Lenin, Roosevelt, Kim Il-Sung, Mao, etc., plainly understood the need for the support of the conservative working class. That is why all of them made such overtures to their conservative working publics.

These men- all of whom were smarter and more worldly than Obama- realized that dictatorship is impossible without the explicit support of the country’s largest demographic. A tyranny of Jewish con artists, lay abouts and irritated minorities, like the one Obama is trying to create, would be a fragile thing, vulnerable to internal chaos, frustrated outbursts from the majority (!) and foreign takeovers.

Bah, this whole thing is just so embarrassing to watch. If I didn’t hate Obama so much, I might actually feel sorry for the poor dolt.

It is one thing to create a successful dictatorship and have it destroyed in war by outside forces, like Hitler did. Hitler’s rule was short lived, but his very successful regime died on the battlefield with honor, which is why his memory inspires so much emotion even today.

It is another thing to cobble together a dictatorship so ineptly that is simply falls apart on its own, which is what we’re seeing with Obama today.

Nobody will remember Obama as a great man 100 years from now. He will be thought of as an incompetent fool, and his failures will forever taint Black Americans as a race of ignorant children.

If the morons controlling Obama had any sense in their heads, they would fire him and install me as dictator. But they wouldn’t want that, as I might actually be effective.

The tickets were worth the price.

And then some.

Taylor re-opened the door, and seeing me still standing in the hallway, waved me in. “Well?” She asked.

I rushed over to her. She was still standing inside the door, and, before she could step back, I kissed her. Hard. On the lips. Years of pent up passion exploded between us.

“I luvethhh yewwwwww” I mumbled, my lips wrestling with hers. It was her. It was really her! I felt so warm. I loved how my arms fit around her, and how her lips fit perfectly in mine.

She pulled away from me and gasped for air. “HUUHHH!” she exclaimed, as if relieved to be alive.

“Wow Tom, it really is you. I thought it was you but I didn’t want to dream that…” She looked away. It was her turn to be humble.

“Ssssshhhh.” I put my finger on her lips. “You’ve said enough. What matters is that we’re together, and, for the moment, nothing will tear us apart.”

“I love you, too. God, you look even more handsome in person. And your hair really is as fluffy and fine as I thought it was.”

“Thanks. You look amazing, too.” Mouthing the words, I was surprised. My violent kissing had rubbed some of her makeup onto me. I could taste lipstick on my words. My right cheek felt powdery and smooth. Onstage, she was a doll. Here, she was a becoming a woman.

“Take me, but do it quick.” She said. “I need to leave, and I don’t want anyone to know that you’re here with me. We’re not supposed to be doing this.” The smudged and wet makeup on her face had started to run. It looked a little… blue.

“I know. I don’t want my sister to know about us.”

Before I finished the sentence, her clothes were off with a few perfectly executed motions. “Wow”, I registered. Must be all the years of quick costume changes. And then… “WOW.” When I realized what my virgin eyes were looking at, my heart started beating through my chest like a drum.

I had to calm myself. I collected my thoughts and looked at her. She wasn’t flawless, like she was in the small, carefully selected handful of pictures that I use to fantasize with. Even through her stage makeup, I could see small creases and wrinkles, like any girl has in her mid-twenties. She had birthmarks, and acne scars, and I could tell that she wasn’t the genius that I fantasized her as being. But even so, she seemed even more perfect than the fantasy. She was real.

I took her. I took her as a real, living woman.

She was soft. I will never forget what she felt like the first time I brushed her legs with my hand. She was pillowy yet firmly feminine. We kissed each other again. This time it wasn’t as forceful, but it felt smoother and more fulfilling.

Our blue eyes locked as we leered at each other. I was much taller than her, which made me rare and exciting. My intensity and physical presence overwhelmed her.

I kissed her succulent breasts, and subsumed her right nipple into my mouth.

“OOOOOOHHHH” she moaned, in a more seductive exclamation of her exasperated cry in the hallway.

I could smell her, and she could smell me. Our scents intermingled into an explosive alchemy.

I was about to penetrate her when our phones rang, simultaneously, with our separate ringtones creating a terrible cacophony that jarred us both from our senses.

“FUCK!!” She exclaimed, as she silenced her phone.

I grabbed my phone, knowing that it was my sister. “Hi Chris, I, uh, got lost after I got the program when I tried to find a washroom. Then I, um, got lost again when I tried to find the parking lot. I’ll be right out. Bye!” I turned the phone off.

“That was your sister… she’s waiting for you, isn’t she? Should we be doing this?”

I penetrated her. Hard. Over and over again. She was taken by surprise and taken aback at my ferocity. Her eyes rolled back as she moaned and writhed uncontrollably. I could see a blue aura surrounding us both as I reamed her. Her legs felt so smooth against mine.

I came. Thrice.

On my third orgasm, I could feel her body convulse and orgasmically explode. She shuddered and shook as she released. “AAAAHHHHH OOOOOOOHHHHHH UUUUUHHHHHHAAAAA!!!!!” her voice ejaculated.

We were spent. I rolled off of her and lay beside her. We both gasped for air. For 3 minutes, we did nothing but breathe.

“That was fun.” I said.

“Yeah. Wow.”

“Are you going to write a song about this?”

She looked over, annoyed and incredulous. “Yeah, sure.” Then she smiled. “I love how you care about me.”

I hugged her, and she started to cry. Her already super smudged makeup became a rainbow of colors. Her makeup that I was wearing became blue.

I didn’t know what to say. I loved her and didn’t want to see her like this. Was this a mistake? I almost started to cry myself before I realized that that wasn’t what she needed.

I hugged her tighter. “Don’t worry, everything happens for a reason.” I cooed. I kissed her cheek. “No matter what happens, we’ll be together.”

“You know that we’re never going to see each other again.” She sobbed.

“You’re probably right, but you never know for sure.”

She stopped crying and kissed me on the cheek, turning her lips blue.

We got up and got dressed.

“I love you.” She said. “Here.” She handed me her guitar pick from tonight’s performance. “I know how you love to collect things, so…” She started to tear up.

I needed to be strong for her. I took the pick and put my finger on her lips. “Sssssssshhh. Thanks, Taylor. I’ll see you later tonight, OK?”

She smiled. “OK! See you later tonight. Thanks for the fun evening.”

“You too! I meant it when I said that you were amazing on stage, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

I turned to leave. As I walked out, I heard her say one last thing.

“Tom… “ she said. “You should wipe your face off. You don’t want your sister seeing you looking all blue.”

“Don’t worry, Taylor.” I smiled. “She won’t.”

I wish that they would think a little more before they speak. They’ve embarrassed themselves terribly twice this year. The first was with all of that “gun control” nonsense, and the second is when they fell on their faces after supporting the prosecution against Zimmerman.

I repeatedly warned them with my twitter what would happen if they didn’t think carefully and consider other points of view before wading into racially charged waters. I even made it a point to warn them publicly to ensure that this lesson would sink in. They *still* didn’t listen.

Oh well, what can I expect? They grew up with silver spoons in their mouths. These things are inevitable.

I’ll deal with it- I need to look whenever I see Kendall in shorts- but I really hope that they’ve learned their lesson this time.

I feel the call of the Void- that endless, eternal empire of death that lies just beyond the reach of every great necromancer. And when the Void calls, I will listen.

The Void has cookies.

My vacation was fun. It’s always nice to see family, especially in such a laid back environment. I’m glad that my grandmother is doing so well. She’s in her 90’s now, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her, and she had no problem maintaining her house while hosting a week-long family get together. She’s a very impressive woman. I hope that I have that much vitality when I’m 93.

What I loved the most was the chance to relax and unwind. I didn’t look at a single website throughout the whole vacation. What freedom!

The relaxation gave me time to think. I thought about myself and my family. I thought about my future, and the futures of my girlfriends and of those back home, and occasionally, the futures of those in that quiet little farming town in Iowa. It’s the latter group that is the most important. They are the ones that will ultimately decide the fate of the “New America” that is being inaugurated by our ruling class.

No matter how many times I make the trek to Iowa, there’s inevitably a culture shock when transitioning from a Chicago suburb to a small Iowan village. The differences aren’t substantial, considering that both areas are majority white, but the small differences that exist in so many things can make visiting a curious experience.

This year, I focused on examining one thing- that most interesting and important of all topics- the condition of the area’s working class white males.

As a visitor, I didn’t see anything shocking. Everything looked the same as it had for the last couple of decades, with some minor changes. The first change I noticed was the open anger against immigration.

It seems as though the common rage over the US’s immigration policies has soaked in even in rural Iowa. It was odd hearing people publicly complain about immigration in a town that is 100% white, but there it was. This was a good confirmation of what I had suspected, which is that opposition to immigration is extremely entrenched and widespread. Now, even communities with no illegals feel personally threatened when politicians talk about things like amnesty.

The second thing I noticed was a more subconscious defiance against the left-liberal establishment. For example, it was a common sight to see young men, and especially little boys, walking around fully camouflaged as if they were heading off to hunt or go to war. The message here seems to be one of almost- open hostility against gun control advocates. The camouflage trend was so common that even my parents, who not looking for this, saw it and remarked about it.

This slight hostility even permeates the local newspapers. It was interesting to contrast the local newspapers with what my dad reads in the Chicago Tribune. One obituary, in particular, caught my eye; it was about a recently deceased local man who had become a German-American cultural icon. The paper said that he had become a “patriotic” American when he decided to enlist in the military and devote himself to the preservation of German- American culture. The implication being, of course, that only conservatives and whites can be patriotic. It was surprising to read.

This undercurrent of hostility may have grown because of Obama’s controversial visit to the town awhile back, which happened while he was out stumping on the campaign trail. In this little village, people are still talking about it.

One morning, diners in one of the village’s restaurants were stunned when Obama and a cohort of armed secret service agents barged in and immediately started threatening everyone and barking out orders. They were hungry, you see, and they needed food *NOW* so Obama could make his scheduled speech.

After scaring the hell out of everyone in the room, the secret service agents made it clear that nobody was allowed to enter or exit the restaurant while Obama was present. No phones or computers were to be used for any reason, and no customers were allowed to move from their seats, period- or there would be consequences.

The secret service agents / thugs weren’t kidding, either. One of my Grandmother’s friends happened to be there, and after waiting for 45 patient minutes, she became forgetful and got up to leave. The agents yelled at her and ordered her to sit down or else.

The whole production was openly, brazenly hostile to the locals. Make no mistake, the government regards these people as enemies. I wonder- does Obama and his secret service act like this when he eats with Hollywood types or Facebook executives? Somehow I doubt it.

Where is all of this leading? If the anger over immigration boils over, if the economy takes another nosedive, if some psycho redneck “lone wolf” gets lucky somehow, if the epidemic of black on white crime gets even worse- who knows what could happen.

But… I digress. The weather was nice. It was hot and sunny, and the cool breeze off the Mississippi felt great on the skin.

I’m glad I went.

Excellent. My attempts at getting traffic to this site failed. I’ve been watching the visitor logs whenever I post something, and not even a racy story about Taylor Swift gets attention.

Well done, Tom.

I’ll make sure to keep this site hidden from search engines. You can never be too sure.

Somebody set up us the bomb.

I’m back from vacation- rested, rejuvenated, and ready to kick some ass!

YEEEEEhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa!

*Does triple lutz*.