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requested).","count":"8","submission_left_submission_id":"3085202","submission_left_file_name":"4621293_DarkCollective_murr.txt","submission_left_thumbnail_url_huge":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/4621/4621293_DarkCollective_murr.jpg","submission_left_thumbnail_url_large":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/4621/4621293_DarkCollective_murr.jpg","submission_left_thumbnail_url_medium":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/4621/4621293_DarkCollective_murr.jpg","submission_left_thumb_huge_x":"244","submission_left_thumb_huge_y":"300","submission_left_thumb_large_x":"163","submission_left_thumb_large_y":"200","submission_left_thumb_medium_x":"98","submission_left_thumb_medium_y":"120"},{"pool_id":"84619","name":"Tom Fucks A Retarded Child","description":"Draft 0 of Tom Fucks A Retarded Child. No editing and scenes are being worked on out of order according to whatever I feel like doing that day.","count":"7","submission_right_submission_id":"3084064","submission_right_file_name":"4619297_DarkCollective_marf.txt","submission_right_thumbnail_url_huge":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/4619/4619297_DarkCollective_marf.jpg","submission_right_thumbnail_url_large":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/4619/4619297_DarkCollective_marf.jpg","submission_right_thumbnail_url_medium":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/4619/4619297_DarkCollective_marf.jpg","submission_right_thumb_huge_x":"300","submission_right_thumb_huge_y":"206","submission_right_thumb_large_x":"200","submission_right_thumb_large_y":"137","submission_right_thumb_medium_x":"120","submission_right_thumb_medium_y":"82"}],"description":"[b]Note: Please note that this was meant to be a rough draft shared between a few editors that I incorrectly didn't mark as friends only (I was in a rush). It literally has placeholder variables in it at parts and is not indicitive of final quality. I am leaving it public because it is already trending. [url=https://inkbunny.net/s/3084064]Here is a description of the overall idea.[/url][/b]\n\n[iconname]WaffleSquadron[/iconname]: here is the release candidate of the first chapter. I'll upload the RCs for two and three in a bit. I'm fucking tired of working on this piece of shit story so let's just get this fucker done so I can go back to writing Everybody Yiffs for a while.\n\nDon't sweat the spelling mistakes, I'll put this shit through grammarly anyway before making it public, just go over it and let me know if there's any structural changes that need to be made / stylistic corrections. Most important thing is it's funny, or at the very least, engaging. I tried to tone down the darkness a bit or at least cushion it with some additional lines of dark humor, but the fact is that Tom is suicidally depressed and at some point the audience needs to acknowledge it.\n\nThe plan is to have you and a few other people review the first three chapter RCs, make whatever minimal changes need to be made, put that shit out in Writer's Crossing, review any feedback there, and finally put on some proper tags and push the first three chapters to IB for a public release. Then I can just sit back and watch the views not come in since the tags will inevitably trigger every users's blacklist.\n\nWe're at the home stretch, I can feel it!","description_bbcode_parsed":"Note: Please note that this was meant to be a rough draft shared between a few editors that I incorrectly didn't mark as friends only (I was in a rush). It literally has placeholder variables in it at parts and is not indicitive of final quality. I am leaving it public because it is already trending. Here is a description of the overall idea.

\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tWaffleSquadron\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t		\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tWaffleSquadron\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
: here is the release candidate of the first chapter. I'll upload the RCs for two and three in a bit. I'm fucking tired of working on this piece of shit story so let's just get this fucker done so I can go back to writing Everybody Yiffs for a while.

Don't sweat the spelling mistakes, I'll put this shit through grammarly anyway before making it public, just go over it and let me know if there's any structural changes that need to be made / stylistic corrections. Most important thing is it's funny, or at the very least, engaging. I tried to tone down the darkness a bit or at least cushion it with some additional lines of dark humor, but the fact is that Tom is suicidally depressed and at some point the audience needs to acknowledge it.

The plan is to have you and a few other people review the first three chapter RCs, make whatever minimal changes need to be made, put that shit out in Writer's Crossing, review any feedback there, and finally put on some proper tags and push the first three chapters to IB for a public release. Then I can just sit back and watch the views not come in since the tags will inevitably trigger every users's blacklist.

We're at the home stretch, I can feel it!","writing":"[t]Content Warning[/t]\nIf you were offended by this story I was trying to offend you.\n\n[t]Author's Note[/t]\nTom Fucks a Retarded Child is the greatest story ever written. This book is a grand achievement in literary history, (X), (Y), and culturally relevant. Finally, the truth of Tom's struggle to make love to an intellectually disabled cub can be told. Like many of you, I was forced to read Flowers for Algernon in High school. And like many of you, upon finishing it I saw the great potential in adapting the novellia as a premise for child pornography.\n\nFor the past several years I have attempted to making a living through commissions, earning my keep through honest work writing high-quality anthropomorphic animal pornography. But unfortunately society doesn't agree... And it saddens me to admit that I have never been able to pay rent this way. Instead I must keep my pathetic day job as the head writer for a popular animated Australian children's program.\n\nBut times are changing, and the breakaway success of Everybody Yiffs has drawn the attention of a popular fast food chain who wishes to remain anonymous. As part of an advertising deal, they have agreed to pay me a small sum every time I place one of their products in my stories. Something called 'Product Placement'. I hesitate to even mention it since you as the reader won't find any noticable changes to my stories, but with this new-found revenue stream I hope to finally have enough money pursue my passion full time.\n\nAll my life I have dreamed of writing the Great American Novel, my magnum opus. And I believe this story might just be it. I just hope the world ready for what I intend to show them...\n\n[right]Dark Collective Presents:[/right]\n[center][t]Tom Fucks A Retarded Child[/t][/center]\n[center]Trainspotting x Airplane! x Flowers for Algernon[/center]\n\n[center][b]1[/b][/center]\nOur story begins on the eve of my 31st birthday. Physically I was turning 31 at least. Mentally I had stopped maturing at 13 and had been faking it ever since. I was feeling gloomy that night, as I did on most nights. On this occasion the realization that I was yet another year closer to death and away from my internalized actualized self was triggering my age dysphoria, causing me to fall into thought loops concerning the failure of democracy and the inevitable entropic decay of the universe, forcing me to once again confront the uncomfortable fact that nothing really mattered\n\nAt times like these I tend to stick to my vices. Masturbation, shit posting, drug abuse...usually an awkward combination of all three. The past few weeks have revolved around snorting ketamine, looking at cub porn, and playing League of Legends--which is a great game if you enjoy being depressed.\n\nIt was a little after midnight and I was bored and alone in my apartment, munching on a box of leftover Cheddar Bacon Loaded Tots® and coming down from my crack high, sitting at my computer with two browser tabs open.\n\nThe first browser tab contained porn. I have long-since transitioned away from 'normal' pornography involving hetrosexual intercourse between two consenting adults. Rather, I have come to the conclusion that my favorite fetishes are not ones that turn me on but instead those that actively frighten me. 'Cardiophilia' has been my current obsession, but there was something about my recent discovery of 'uretheral fisting' that has caused me to lose a level of faith in humanity I didn't even realize I still possessed. The worst offender in this regard has been an artist gallery I found last week depicting dozens of pages of various animals pressing their footpaws against car pedals. That's it. No porn. No plot. Just hundreds of the same crudely drawn closeups of hot paw-on-pedal action. It was fucking terrifying. And yet now I can't imagine getting off to anything else.\n\nThe other browser tab was filled with search results for various means of killing myself.\n\nA few weeks prior, (insert league of legends joke here, he explains he lost a match because of some bullshit op character) I decided it was finally time to commit suicide. This notion was not a new one but this time I had a definite plan which I intended to carry out. I spent the next several days doing rigiorous prepratory research--much longer than I had spent deciding I was going to kill myself--and eventually settled on a suicide mask as the optimal method. All I needed was a plastic mask, an inert gas, a tube, and some nylon straps, all of which were being sold in a convenient kit online. Unfortunately the kit was being sold for a whole $400, a price which, although I was able to afford, I had determined was an outrageous fee to charge someone desperate enough to commit suicide. I had contacted the website owner on Telegram and was in the process of haggling down the price when the email arrived--\n\nActually, before we continue, I just realized I haven't properly introduced myself yet. My name is Tom by the way. That's probably important. I suppose I should also probably talk a little about myself, let's see... I'm an overweight unemployed diapered former sex offender with a penchant for infantalism and an exhibitionism fetish. I live alone on the bad side of town in an apartment that's about the size of two closets. My closest friend is a Jack Russel Terrier plushie that I regularly have sex with. My hobbies include recreational drug use and shitting my pants. I'm also a rare skunk-fox hybrid which means I'm better than you and you're not allowed to hurt my feelings. And I'll be your narrator for the remainder of this story. Also, I'm a pedophile.\n\nAnyway, the website owner rejected my claims that charging the equivalent of a Steam Deck for a canister of gas and some sheets of plastic was tantamount to highway robbery and negotiations further soured when he blocked me for making insensitive comments about his mother. In retaliation I began posting dozens of negative reviews about the poor quality of his products. My fictional customers claimed that they were not aware that the masks hadn't been certified BPA-free and not only had they failed to die as intended but they were now in fact homosexuals. I was in the middle of checking my email to register yet another account when I noticed the unread message. I quickly scanned the header.\n\n\"Dear Tom, I hope you are doing well. It is my pleasure to inform you that--\"\n\nAt this point I had stopped reading and wrote the email off as spam because I'm an unlikable asshole that nobody would interact with willingly. I was about to hit delete when the FROM address caught my eye. Curious, I clicked to open the whole thing:\n\n\"Dear Tom,\n\nI hope you are doing well. It is my pleasure to inform you that after considerable time on the waitlist we have found a potential match for you. I will be your representative on this case going forward. Please review the attached documents and select an available time-slot so we can meet in person to discuss next steps. Have a wonderful rest of your day and welcome to Cub Club.\n\n-- (Caseworker Name)\n\nPS: Happy Birthday!\"\n\nI stared blankly at my monitor. Was this a joke? Had I been dreaming? I re-read it once. Blinked. Punched myself. Re-read it again. The letter was still there. It was real. After five and a half years on the waiting list--forms, in-person interviews, background checks, tedious workshops--this was actually happening. Cub Club. I had been accepted...\n\nI took my hand off my dick.\n\nI started crying. Just sitting there, sobbing in my chair. This was very unusual for me. I'm not the type of person to just completely lose it in front of his computer at one in the morning on a wednesday. Usually I wait until at least four or five AM.\n\nThen I laughed. I threw up my head and started to laugh harder and deeper than I ever had in my life. I laughed as I wrote back my new case worker asking for an appointment that day at noon. I laughed long past the points where the neighbors yelled and banged on the ceiling. I cackled like a madman as I found my wallet and strapped on my shoes, giddy with glee as I headed out the door. I had finally done it. I had achieved what might be the greatest accomplishment of my life. I had gotten into Cub Club and I knew things were going to be different now, my life was finally headed in a healthy new direction. And I knew just the way to celebrate...\n\nMy drug dealer, Louie, was convinently also my next-door neighbor. Next-door and three floors removed. He moved here after getting kicked out of his sobriety home for making meth in the clothes dryer. Like me he found this apartment complex on Craigslit and it was initially advertised to him as an affordable renewed development featuring a 'unique, varied, minimalistic overall décor', all of which are technically true. This place is [i]unique[/i] among the places we've lived for the many [i]varied[/i] ways it tends to [i]minimize[/i] one's [i]overall[/i] life expectancy.\n\nThat reminds me, you know people often ask me why I moved here. Well, no, they don't really, that's that's a lie. The longest in-person conversations I've had in the past three weeks has been with the checkout clerk at the convienence store across the street. But if I had friends and wasn't suffering from suicidal levels of social isolation they might ask me why I moved here. Not just the apartment complex but 'here' as a whole. And honestly I'm not sure where to begin. There's so much to like about this place. There's the mild climate, the excellent public transit system, the fact that this is the only city in the country where I'm allowed to legally have sex with children. There's the greenbelt, the beautiful lakeside trail, the downtown has a fantastic night life scene. Not to mention the other downtown enemities like the library, the sports complex, and the city hall where I'll meet with my case worker in order to get paired with a child to have sex with. There's the music scene, the botanical gardens, not to mention the yearly renaissance festival. I was even surprised to discover when I moved here that the city was testing out a pilot program which allowed adults to legally persue sexual relationships with minors, provided these relationships were supervised and provided I had been properly vetted and accepted into the program.\n\nAnd I just had been...\n\n[center][b]2[/b][/center]\nI knocked on my Louie's door for a good minute or so but nobody answered so I determined me must have been passed out or taking a shower. Normally I would hesitate to bother someone this late at night but Louie and I had quickly become fast friends due to our many shared interests like consuming mind-altering substances and wanting to have sex with children. He wouldn't give me his number though and I had no other way to contact him so I just stood there periodically ringing his doorbell for the next fifteen minutes until he finally opened the door. The shirtless red-eyed otter looked at me as one might regard a cockroach.\n\n\"Louie!\" I said, holding out a paw. He glared down at it.\n\n\"What do you want, Tom?\"\n\n\"How's it going, man?\" I smiled, still holding out for the handshake.\n\n\"It's 4AM, Tom.\"\n\n\"Is it that late?\" I asked innocently, dropping my paw. \"I just figured we hadn't seen each other in a while and watched to catch up with you.\"\n\n\"You were here six hours ago.\" he said suspiciously. \"What happened the gram of coke I sold you and why are you covered in baking soda?\"\n\n\"No reason.\" I said. \"Look, I was hoping I could pick up something else. Some dilaudid maybe? I'm celebrating a special occasion.\"\n\n\"Your birthday, right?\"\n\n\"Huh?\"\n\n\"Today's your birthday.\"\n\n\"That's tomorrow.\"\n\n\"It is tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Sure, my birthday, sure.\"\n\nThe otter scratched his neck with a sleepy yawn and stepped over to let me inside. I jumped onto his couch in the living room, luckily the mirror was still on the coffee table where I had left it earlier, surrounded by a couple of pill bottles. By the time I glanced back at Louie he was already retreating down the hall.\n\n\"Do you're own thing I'm going back to bed.\" he said. \"Unlike you I actually have to work in the morning...\" He stopped, pointing back at me from the hall. \"You can take two pills. [i]Two. Pills.[/i] Got that? That's $30 as soon as you can pay me and this is only a one-time thing. You're already exceeding your tab...\"\n\n\"Come on you know I'm good for it.\" I protested. That wasn't actually true at the moment but Louie didn't need to know. The otter waved his paw dismissively.\n\n\"Whatever, happy birthday...\"\n\n\"Hey, Louie!\"\n\nThe otter had already opened the door to his bedroom and turned back to me with sleep-stained scorn. \"What the hell is it now?\"\n\n\"I got into Cub Club today!\"\n\nThe otter fell silent, looking me overly sternly, carefully.\n\n\"Goodnight, Tom.\" he said, closing his bedroom door behind him.\n\nI absentmindedly reached for some Garlic Bread Twists® we had ordered earlier that night as I began to crush the pills. Christians pray for salvation, Buddhists meditate for enlightenment, but I prefer to ingest my self-actualization four milligrams at a time. I snorted the line I had laid out on my phone. Then I crushed a second pill and snorted that as well to account for my existing tolerance. Then I snorted a third pill in cause the first two were duds. Then I snorted a fourth one because I don't like ending things in odd-numbered steps.\n\nDespite what you may think I don't consider myself a particularly heavy drug user. Like many young people I smoke weed from time to time. I drink only very sparingly. I've been known to occasionally partake in some light pscyhedelics. Magic Mushrooms, LSD, 2CB, DMT (4aco). I also have pretty severe ADHD so I take stimulants to help me focus. Adderall, Ritilan, Vyvanse, Dexedrine--the latter two are basically the same thing. For the last few years I've been using prescription ketamine as an antidepressant (not my prescription). And MDMA helps a lot with my social anxiety. During the evenings I usually take Klonopin or two to help me sleep. Or Valium. Or Xanax. Any of the benzodiazepines really... Sometimes if I'm feeling really bad I'll dabble in opioids for a couple of days until my mood lifts. Kratom, oxycodone, hyrodocodone, morphine, hydromorphone is what I usually what I prefer when I can get it. Again, nothing too heavy...heroin, fentenyl when I can't find anything else. And upon retrospect I suppose it's not entirely impossible that over the last couple of years I may have been starting to develop a very minor case of a crippling substance use disorder. Now, I know that may sound bad but it is in fact utterly horrible. And yes, I know I'd probably be a lot happier of I gravitated towards a healthier coping mechanism, like cutting myself. But I'm a complete wimp when it comes to physical pain so unfortunately for us both as of right now my self-harm remains entirely verbal.\n\nAnd if you really want to know me what you need to understand is that it's not like I [i]want to[/i] be constantly using drugs. It's just that I [i]have to[/i] or else I won't get high. And I'm willing to become addicted to anything that distracts me from the fact that I exist. Sometimes I just pop random pills I find laying around in the street in the hope that they'll do something. Nearly all recreational drugs can be antidepressants if you use them the right way.\n\nAnd dilaudid is the fucking best. It outranks all the others in spades. Hydromorphone really is the perfect pleasure drug, Aldolus Huxley be damned. It's like sex, but even better, because I'm actually able to have it. Although that itself is a shallow comparison. When I first tried dilaudid it felt like getting to date someone who I had a crush on for years. Poverty, stress, loneliness, anxiety, failure, it melts them all away. Drugs don't always have to make you feel 'good'. Sometimes they can just make you feel 'normal'. And that's like being able to buy happiness for cash.\n\nI know what you're thinking. I am better than this. I don't need to give up hope. And I don't need to face this alone. \"Depression is treatable!\" \"Help is available!\" \"Hang in there!\" \"It gets better!\" Give me a fucking break, I've been hearing that shit all my life. I'm thirty-one years old now and it has only ever gotten worse...\n\nI grabbed my plushie and pulled it in tight as I curled up on Louie's couch, allowing that familiar blanket of warmth to take seep into me as I stared at Louie's black TV.\n\nI have a darkness inside of me I think. I think it's always been there. I guess it's probably because I'm a 'Minor Attracted Person'... I usually don't tell people that. When I do they tend to get the wrong impression. Even though I'm not dangerous. Even though I've never been 'dangerous'... People like my mother will look at me in horror. Like I've done something wrong. Or maybe...I guess it's because I [i]am[/i] something wrong. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. If you're reading this you're probably something wrong too.\n\nThe world started to fade, replaced by those lucid opioid fever dreams that lay somewhere between conciousness and sleep. I starting thinking about my match. Who was this boy I was going to learn about tomorrow? How old was he? How did he look? His name? His species? Would we have similar interests? Would we get along? Please, oh god, please just let us get along...\n\nIn my dreams the boy I'm paired with has bright eyes and an easy smile. He trusts me with his questions and confides in me his secrets. He wants to go everywhere with me. To the mall. To the grocery store. To soccer practice. He knows I'm a pervert but trusts me anyway. And at night, when we're in bed together, he squirms, whines, howls, humps, pants, and makes happy noises. And he looks me in the eyes and tells me that he isn't afraid.\n\nI smiled as we drifted through our dreams together, pulling my plushie in tight as I hugged my imaginary cub, wondering if with dreams this sweet I really wanted to wake up again in the morning.","writing_bbcode_parsed":"Content Warning
If you were offended by this story I was trying to offend you.

Author's Note
Tom Fucks a Retarded Child is the greatest story ever written. This book is a grand achievement in literary history, (X), (Y), and culturally relevant. Finally, the truth of Tom's struggle to make love to an intellectually disabled cub can be told. Like many of you, I was forced to read Flowers for Algernon in High school. And like many of you, upon finishing it I saw the great potential in adapting the novellia as a premise for child pornography.

For the past several years I have attempted to making a living through commissions, earning my keep through honest work writing high-quality anthropomorphic animal pornography. But unfortunately society doesn't agree... And it saddens me to admit that I have never been able to pay rent this way. Instead I must keep my pathetic day job as the head writer for a popular animated Australian children's program.

But times are changing, and the breakaway success of Everybody Yiffs has drawn the attention of a popular fast food chain who wishes to remain anonymous. As part of an advertising deal, they have agreed to pay me a small sum every time I place one of their products in my stories. Something called 'Product Placement'. I hesitate to even mention it since you as the reader won't find any noticable changes to my stories, but with this new-found revenue stream I hope to finally have enough money pursue my passion full time.

All my life I have dreamed of writing the Great American Novel, my magnum opus. And I believe this story might just be it. I just hope the world ready for what I intend to show them...

Dark Collective Presents:

Tom Fucks A Retarded Child

Trainspotting x Airplane! x Flowers for Algernon


1

Our story begins on the eve of my 31st birthday. Physically I was turning 31 at least. Mentally I had stopped maturing at 13 and had been faking it ever since. I was feeling gloomy that night, as I did on most nights. On this occasion the realization that I was yet another year closer to death and away from my internalized actualized self was triggering my age dysphoria, causing me to fall into thought loops concerning the failure of democracy and the inevitable entropic decay of the universe, forcing me to once again confront the uncomfortable fact that nothing really mattered

At times like these I tend to stick to my vices. Masturbation, shit posting, drug abuse...usually an awkward combination of all three. The past few weeks have revolved around snorting ketamine, looking at cub porn, and playing League of Legends--which is a great game if you enjoy being depressed.

It was a little after midnight and I was bored and alone in my apartment, munching on a box of leftover Cheddar Bacon Loaded Tots® and coming down from my crack high, sitting at my computer with two browser tabs open.

The first browser tab contained porn. I have long-since transitioned away from 'normal' pornography involving hetrosexual intercourse between two consenting adults. Rather, I have come to the conclusion that my favorite fetishes are not ones that turn me on but instead those that actively frighten me. 'Cardiophilia' has been my current obsession, but there was something about my recent discovery of 'uretheral fisting' that has caused me to lose a level of faith in humanity I didn't even realize I still possessed. The worst offender in this regard has been an artist gallery I found last week depicting dozens of pages of various animals pressing their footpaws against car pedals. That's it. No porn. No plot. Just hundreds of the same crudely drawn closeups of hot paw-on-pedal action. It was fucking terrifying. And yet now I can't imagine getting off to anything else.

The other browser tab was filled with search results for various means of killing myself.

A few weeks prior, (insert league of legends joke here, he explains he lost a match because of some bullshit op character) I decided it was finally time to commit suicide. This notion was not a new one but this time I had a definite plan which I intended to carry out. I spent the next several days doing rigiorous prepratory research--much longer than I had spent deciding I was going to kill myself--and eventually settled on a suicide mask as the optimal method. All I needed was a plastic mask, an inert gas, a tube, and some nylon straps, all of which were being sold in a convenient kit online. Unfortunately the kit was being sold for a whole $400, a price which, although I was able to afford, I had determined was an outrageous fee to charge someone desperate enough to commit suicide. I had contacted the website owner on Telegram and was in the process of haggling down the price when the email arrived--

Actually, before we continue, I just realized I haven't properly introduced myself yet. My name is Tom by the way. That's probably important. I suppose I should also probably talk a little about myself, let's see... I'm an overweight unemployed diapered former sex offender with a penchant for infantalism and an exhibitionism fetish. I live alone on the bad side of town in an apartment that's about the size of two closets. My closest friend is a Jack Russel Terrier plushie that I regularly have sex with. My hobbies include recreational drug use and shitting my pants. I'm also a rare skunk-fox hybrid which means I'm better than you and you're not allowed to hurt my feelings. And I'll be your narrator for the remainder of this story. Also, I'm a pedophile.

Anyway, the website owner rejected my claims that charging the equivalent of a Steam Deck for a canister of gas and some sheets of plastic was tantamount to highway robbery and negotiations further soured when he blocked me for making insensitive comments about his mother. In retaliation I began posting dozens of negative reviews about the poor quality of his products. My fictional customers claimed that they were not aware that the masks hadn't been certified BPA-free and not only had they failed to die as intended but they were now in fact homosexuals. I was in the middle of checking my email to register yet another account when I noticed the unread message. I quickly scanned the header.

"Dear Tom, I hope you are doing well. It is my pleasure to inform you that--"

At this point I had stopped reading and wrote the email off as spam because I'm an unlikable asshole that nobody would interact with willingly. I was about to hit delete when the FROM address caught my eye. Curious, I clicked to open the whole thing:

"Dear Tom,

I hope you are doing well. It is my pleasure to inform you that after considerable time on the waitlist we have found a potential match for you. I will be your representative on this case going forward. Please review the attached documents and select an available time-slot so we can meet in person to discuss next steps. Have a wonderful rest of your day and welcome to Cub Club.

-- (Caseworker Name)

PS: Happy Birthday!"

I stared blankly at my monitor. Was this a joke? Had I been dreaming? I re-read it once. Blinked. Punched myself. Re-read it again. The letter was still there. It was real. After five and a half years on the waiting list--forms, in-person interviews, background checks, tedious workshops--this was actually happening. Cub Club. I had been accepted...

I took my hand off my dick.

I started crying. Just sitting there, sobbing in my chair. This was very unusual for me. I'm not the type of person to just completely lose it in front of his computer at one in the morning on a wednesday. Usually I wait until at least four or five AM.

Then I laughed. I threw up my head and started to laugh harder and deeper than I ever had in my life. I laughed as I wrote back my new case worker asking for an appointment that day at noon. I laughed long past the points where the neighbors yelled and banged on the ceiling. I cackled like a madman as I found my wallet and strapped on my shoes, giddy with glee as I headed out the door. I had finally done it. I had achieved what might be the greatest accomplishment of my life. I had gotten into Cub Club and I knew things were going to be different now, my life was finally headed in a healthy new direction. And I knew just the way to celebrate...

My drug dealer, Louie, was convinently also my next-door neighbor. Next-door and three floors removed. He moved here after getting kicked out of his sobriety home for making meth in the clothes dryer. Like me he found this apartment complex on Craigslit and it was initially advertised to him as an affordable renewed development featuring a 'unique, varied, minimalistic overall décor', all of which are technically true. This place is unique among the places we've lived for the many varied ways it tends to minimize one's overall life expectancy.

That reminds me, you know people often ask me why I moved here. Well, no, they don't really, that's that's a lie. The longest in-person conversations I've had in the past three weeks has been with the checkout clerk at the convienence store across the street. But if I had friends and wasn't suffering from suicidal levels of social isolation they might ask me why I moved here. Not just the apartment complex but 'here' as a whole. And honestly I'm not sure where to begin. There's so much to like about this place. There's the mild climate, the excellent public transit system, the fact that this is the only city in the country where I'm allowed to legally have sex with children. There's the greenbelt, the beautiful lakeside trail, the downtown has a fantastic night life scene. Not to mention the other downtown enemities like the library, the sports complex, and the city hall where I'll meet with my case worker in order to get paired with a child to have sex with. There's the music scene, the botanical gardens, not to mention the yearly renaissance festival. I was even surprised to discover when I moved here that the city was testing out a pilot program which allowed adults to legally persue sexual relationships with minors, provided these relationships were supervised and provided I had been properly vetted and accepted into the program.

And I just had been...

2

I knocked on my Louie's door for a good minute or so but nobody answered so I determined me must have been passed out or taking a shower. Normally I would hesitate to bother someone this late at night but Louie and I had quickly become fast friends due to our many shared interests like consuming mind-altering substances and wanting to have sex with children. He wouldn't give me his number though and I had no other way to contact him so I just stood there periodically ringing his doorbell for the next fifteen minutes until he finally opened the door. The shirtless red-eyed otter looked at me as one might regard a cockroach.

"Louie!" I said, holding out a paw. He glared down at it.

"What do you want, Tom?"

"How's it going, man?" I smiled, still holding out for the handshake.

"It's 4AM, Tom."

"Is it that late?" I asked innocently, dropping my paw. "I just figured we hadn't seen each other in a while and watched to catch up with you."

"You were here six hours ago." he said suspiciously. "What happened the gram of coke I sold you and why are you covered in baking soda?"

"No reason." I said. "Look, I was hoping I could pick up something else. Some dilaudid maybe? I'm celebrating a special occasion."

"Your birthday, right?"

"Huh?"

"Today's your birthday."

"That's tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow."

"Sure, my birthday, sure."

The otter scratched his neck with a sleepy yawn and stepped over to let me inside. I jumped onto his couch in the living room, luckily the mirror was still on the coffee table where I had left it earlier, surrounded by a couple of pill bottles. By the time I glanced back at Louie he was already retreating down the hall.

"Do you're own thing I'm going back to bed." he said. "Unlike you I actually have to work in the morning..." He stopped, pointing back at me from the hall. "You can take two pills. Two. Pills. Got that? That's $30 as soon as you can pay me and this is only a one-time thing. You're already exceeding your tab..."

"Come on you know I'm good for it." I protested. That wasn't actually true at the moment but Louie didn't need to know. The otter waved his paw dismissively.

"Whatever, happy birthday..."

"Hey, Louie!"

The otter had already opened the door to his bedroom and turned back to me with sleep-stained scorn. "What the hell is it now?"

"I got into Cub Club today!"

The otter fell silent, looking me overly sternly, carefully.

"Goodnight, Tom." he said, closing his bedroom door behind him.

I absentmindedly reached for some Garlic Bread Twists® we had ordered earlier that night as I began to crush the pills. Christians pray for salvation, Buddhists meditate for enlightenment, but I prefer to ingest my self-actualization four milligrams at a time. I snorted the line I had laid out on my phone. Then I crushed a second pill and snorted that as well to account for my existing tolerance. Then I snorted a third pill in cause the first two were duds. Then I snorted a fourth one because I don't like ending things in odd-numbered steps.

Despite what you may think I don't consider myself a particularly heavy drug user. Like many young people I smoke weed from time to time. I drink only very sparingly. I've been known to occasionally partake in some light pscyhedelics. Magic Mushrooms, LSD, 2CB, DMT (4aco). I also have pretty severe ADHD so I take stimulants to help me focus. Adderall, Ritilan, Vyvanse, Dexedrine--the latter two are basically the same thing. For the last few years I've been using prescription ketamine as an antidepressant (not my prescription). And MDMA helps a lot with my social anxiety. During the evenings I usually take Klonopin or two to help me sleep. Or Valium. Or Xanax. Any of the benzodiazepines really... Sometimes if I'm feeling really bad I'll dabble in opioids for a couple of days until my mood lifts. Kratom, oxycodone, hyrodocodone, morphine, hydromorphone is what I usually what I prefer when I can get it. Again, nothing too heavy...heroin, fentenyl when I can't find anything else. And upon retrospect I suppose it's not entirely impossible that over the last couple of years I may have been starting to develop a very minor case of a crippling substance use disorder. Now, I know that may sound bad but it is in fact utterly horrible. And yes, I know I'd probably be a lot happier of I gravitated towards a healthier coping mechanism, like cutting myself. But I'm a complete wimp when it comes to physical pain so unfortunately for us both as of right now my self-harm remains entirely verbal.

And if you really want to know me what you need to understand is that it's not like I want to be constantly using drugs. It's just that I have to or else I won't get high. And I'm willing to become addicted to anything that distracts me from the fact that I exist. Sometimes I just pop random pills I find laying around in the street in the hope that they'll do something. Nearly all recreational drugs can be antidepressants if you use them the right way.

And dilaudid is the fucking best. It outranks all the others in spades. Hydromorphone really is the perfect pleasure drug, Aldolus Huxley be damned. It's like sex, but even better, because I'm actually able to have it. Although that itself is a shallow comparison. When I first tried dilaudid it felt like getting to date someone who I had a crush on for years. Poverty, stress, loneliness, anxiety, failure, it melts them all away. Drugs don't always have to make you feel 'good'. Sometimes they can just make you feel 'normal'. And that's like being able to buy happiness for cash.

I know what you're thinking. I am better than this. I don't need to give up hope. And I don't need to face this alone. "Depression is treatable!" "Help is available!" "Hang in there!" "It gets better!" Give me a fucking break, I've been hearing that shit all my life. I'm thirty-one years old now and it has only ever gotten worse...

I grabbed my plushie and pulled it in tight as I curled up on Louie's couch, allowing that familiar blanket of warmth to take seep into me as I stared at Louie's black TV.

I have a darkness inside of me I think. I think it's always been there. I guess it's probably because I'm a 'Minor Attracted Person'... I usually don't tell people that. When I do they tend to get the wrong impression. Even though I'm not dangerous. Even though I've never been 'dangerous'... People like my mother will look at me in horror. Like I've done something wrong. Or maybe...I guess it's because I am something wrong. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. If you're reading this you're probably something wrong too.

The world started to fade, replaced by those lucid opioid fever dreams that lay somewhere between conciousness and sleep. I starting thinking about my match. Who was this boy I was going to learn about tomorrow? How old was he? How did he look? His name? His species? Would we have similar interests? Would we get along? Please, oh god, please just let us get along...

In my dreams the boy I'm paired with has bright eyes and an easy smile. He trusts me with his questions and confides in me his secrets. He wants to go everywhere with me. To the mall. To the grocery store. To soccer practice. He knows I'm a pervert but trusts me anyway. And at night, when we're in bed together, he squirms, whines, howls, humps, pants, and makes happy noises. And he looks me in the eyes and tells me that he isn't afraid.

I smiled as we drifted through our dreams together, pulling my plushie in tight as I hugged my imaginary cub, wondering if with dreams this sweet I really wanted to wake up again in the morning.","pools_count":2,"title":"Tom Fucks A Retarded Child: Chapter One - RC1","deleted":"f","public":"t","mimetype":"application/msword","pagecount":"1","rating_id":"2","rating_name":"Adult","ratings":[{"content_tag_id":"4","name":"Sexual Themes","description":"Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal","rating_id":"2"}],"submission_type_id":"12","type_name":"Writing - Document","guest_block":"t","friends_only":"f","comments_count":"10","views":"1059"}