Friday, December 30, 2011

The Contractor - Part 2c - by nova

We stopped for a second at the guard post so the driver could show ID,  then he kicked it down the slope and into the garage. I thought he went a little too fast but I didn't share my concern with my escorts. "Serve them right if they ran into somebody" was my thought. They didn't of course.  I would have been surprised if they had. 

We pulled in front of a gate, really a big metal slab, watched over from tinted windows, which opened for us without them doing anything. That was kind of spooky. Inside was enough space for four cars and another gate at the end. We were boxed and the only vehicle in there.  They got out and then got me out and led me to the double doors which also opened like magic.  Bad magic.  The place was creeping me out and the exhaust fans which were roaring didn't help me feel any better. One must have been going bad because it was shrieking  like it was in pain.  A part of mind started wondering if I was going to be beaten.  That was not going to happen I reassured myself. This was the FBI, not some southern small town cops. They were professionals who wore ties and washed their hands after going to the bathroom. 

My little voice was silenced when we stepped through the doors into a room with a counter running the length of one end.   It was very clean and sparsely decorated.  I was led to that by the elbow where a guy who looked like he lifted weights regularly and a woman who looked like she spotted for him waited.  They looked bored. 

Johnson wasn't real good about making conversation as the first thing he said was, "When are you going to get the fan fixed?"  Bored woman answered, "GSA said they would get it done three days ago." She shrugged, an added, "You can't hear it in here anyways.

I heard him mutter, "Fucking GSA."  Then he told Smith, "Check him in and come by before you decide  to disappear for the day." I didn't miss the grin Jones gave Smith as he and Johnson disappeared through a door with "No Prisoners Beyond This Point" stenciled in block black letters on it.  After that it was all about being prepped as a meal for the machine.  That's what it felt like, like I was being processed by and for consumption.  I didn't know it but that was exactly what was happening.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

The Contractor - Part 2b - by nova

They wouldn't shut up about football.  "Hey Johnson." So that was the black agents name, "I need tomorrow off. I got to run my kid to  the dentist."

"Fine. Submit it and I'll sign off on it when I come in. And Smith..."

"Yeah boss."

"Don't forget. Stealing time is the same as stealing money."

Smith didn't say anything in reply. I waited for the laughter. None came. Well, at least it was a break in the conversation and I used it. "Where are we going?"
Johnson answered over his shoulder, "Field Office on 4th Street.  You'll get booked there and sat back until another Agent talks to you."

"Except I didn't do anything!"  I was trying to be cool but my voice betrayed me.  It didn't go unnoticed. He added, "Jones, tell him what he's looking at while I call in."

"Lets see. Possession with intent to distribute, a firearm, semiautomatic, that I bet isn't registered in your name."

"That's not mine! Look, there was this hot blond and..."

"Shut up." Jones told me. We don't care. Your lawyer won't care and the Judge won't care. You do know about the mandatory sentencing guidelines? Right?"

I shook my head. My stomach sunk. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like this. I was right. "Your looking at 78 months incarceration minimum."  I swallowed and said quietly, "I didn't do this officer."

"It's Agent. Shut up."

I wondered, "Weren't they supposed to read me my rights?" I did have rights except I didn't really want to hear them. Since they hadn't yet maybe I was not under arrest and this could all be straightened out. They went back to talking about football and I watched the people on the street. That world already seemed far away. While I did that I tried to figure out what 78 months was in years.  As best as I could figure out it was six years. If I had my phone I could use the calculator but they had taken that.  Whatever it was in years it was too many.  Then the evil part of my brain started sending images of what I could expect in DC Jail, a jail well known for its squalor and angry black men with large penises that...  "Holy shit. What the hell have I gotten into here? My fear level kicked up a notch.

The Contractor - Part 2a - by nova

They finished tossing the room, it didn't take long as it wasn't very big, it was mostly bed,  which I noticed they didn't look under.  My mom always made us look under the bed before we checked out of a room when we were on vacation.  She also checked every drawer.  Mom could have taught these guys how to do this right.  Mom might be getting a phone call from me very shortly.  "Look officers...this is not my room.  Check at the desk. It's some Swedish woman's.  I told them this using my patient voice.  It didn't change things.  I was on my feet and Smith or was it Jones, I've always had a problem remembering names, looked at me, laughed a most unpleasant laugh, and told me, "Right."

The black agent, I hadn't heard his name yet, told the other two, "Take him to the car.   I want to get this done an over with so I can watch the game for a change."

Smith said, "Yeah. Even though the 'Skins suck as usual."  

They jabbered away about football as the elbow rushed me down the hallway.  The cleaning lady watched for a few seconds and then disappeared back into the room she was doing, probably worried about getting her papers checked or the little scene I was playing a part in reminded her of home.  Hell, I was getting that banana republic feeling but thank god this was America.

The trip through the lobby was fun. Lot's of tourists milling about for some reason.  Of course someone took my picture with their cell phone.  Damn, I was going to be some asshole from Iowa's Facebook post by nightfall. 

Jones opened the door, the car was a Dodge Charger I think, the Feds always have money, and he pushed my head down so I wouldn't bang it getting in. I had seen that on TV and it always seemed like a nice gesture.  It didn't feel that way in real life. 

You Really Think It Was All An Accident?

This is an an excerpt.  Click here to read the rest.  

It works like this... The most important assets for a free people are time and leisure.  Once you have that, then you can develop the ability to think critically, to analyze facts, events, trends, and to become aware of the dynamics that operate within a social system.
In a society, once a large-enough segment of the population has developed an understanding of how the system works, you then have an informed citizenry who is able to act in favor of their interests.
So in a healthy democracy where the population is informed and educated, you will not have a very marked disparity in income distribution between the population and the rich.
So having access to time and leisure, leads to an improved ability to think, to analyse, and to become aware about how the system works.  This in turn leads to the ability to organize with other informed citizens to take collective actions to safeguard your interests.
For the citizenry, this results in having a larger share of the nation's income, wealth, and power.
That's why the oligarchs are always (eternally) trying to find ways to chip away at the ability for the common man to be able to have access to idle time and/or leisure.
That explains the hundreds of millions of dollars certain business organizations and lobbying groups spend on bribing politicians nationwide to setup a legislative framework to make it harder for workers to unionize, to make education less accessible, to destroy the proper functions of government.
When it comes to power, the most significant component is income and wealth, especially in a capitalist system.
Once people fall into poverty, they become powerless (by and large); that's why you hardly see politicians talking about the poor.  They are always talking about the "middle class."
And it does not matter how large the segment of the population falling into poverty may be.  For example, a population that has a 10% incidence of poverty, is as powerless as a population who has 80% living in poverty (in my opinion).
Right now (as you read this), there is a segment of the population who has vast wealth and it's using it to manipulate the bought off politicians nationwide (federal, state, counties, cities) to push "austerity measures" onto the citizenry.
These austerity measures have the effect of curtailing access to education, health care, and a plethora of workers' rights.
As these very well-planned policies take effect, the average worker then has less time, and less leisure.  This immediately translates into a rapidly-expanding wealth gap between the rich, an the rest.  As the rich become richer (aided by the bribing of Democrats and Republican politicians across the entire country), and the poor become poorer, the percentage of the population who is poor also increases rapidly (as it is the case now).
As poverty spreads through the population, ignorance also spreads, since poor people don't have access to the proper infrastructure to get educated.
And here's the "brilliance" of the oligarchs.  As the "hamster wheels" (as it were) are spun faster and faster, the workers try to keep up.  Those who fall off the wheel, unable to keep up with the oppression and exploitation, then fall into poverty, and are quickly marginalized, stripped from any source of power, and ghettoized.

Listen to This

When I first heard her sing on YouTube I got chills running down my back.  Appalachian Rain is a great song but I couldn't find a video link.  This is her singing in what looks like the family storage room.  She is looking for help financing her next album.  For someone like her it is just about impossible to break into the medium, let alone the big time.  I have no connection to her -- I just believe she has a voice that should be heard.

If you like this type of music -- take a look at her kickstart page: 

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

The Contractor - Part 2 - by nova

I have to admit I felt a moment of unease the way she disappeared so quickly. Especially as she took the big ass purse that she was carrying with her.  I thought about it, mentally shrugged, and told myself, "Just cause you had sex doesn't mean she trusts you...yet." There was probably some deep moral or cultural meaning in there somewhere but I wasn't going to dig it out.  I looked around the room and saw some cosmetics on the table.  Yeah, she was staying here so sometimes a cigar is a cigar and I relaxed.

That was when the door burst open and big men came busting through it yelling, "FBI! Get your hands where we can see them! Now!" I stuck them up in the air and got as far as yelling "Hey!" before they were on me. What really disturbed me was the guns pointing at me.  Me! "Out of the bed an on the floor now! Move"  They wouldn't stop yelling either.  "On your stomach asshole! Do it! Now!"  I was yelling, "Alright! Alright!" Damn I felt naked.  More so than I had in front of the Swedish cougar who I hoped had enough sense to stay away now.  Hell, she needed to get to the airport and get back home where they didn't do stupid shit like this.  There was a pause in the noise and I felt like they were all staring at my ass.  It was a creepy feeling.  Especially when one of them cuffed me.

"Hey! Can I put on my pants?"

"Shut up."

"Jones check his pants and let cotton tail get covered up.

"Going to be hard to do since I just cuffed him."  

"Well uncuff him and then do it again."

I was getting a good look at the carpet.  I wasn't as clean as it looked and it smelled like old feet this close up.

"Smith check the room. See what we can find."

So the black guy was in charge.  I didn't even think the FBI hired blacks for agent jobs. They were wearing the blue windbreakers with FBI in big bold yellow letters so they were the real thing.  I was looking forward to explaining to them how they had the wrong person. I would try not to be too snotty about it.

My pants were dropped on my head and I was told to get up slowly and put them on.  Then to get my ass back down on the floor. 

I was pulling them on when Smith pulled open one of the dresser drawers, reached in, and came out with a Tupperware container that he carefully sat on the dresser top.  "Lookee here...and there's more." He whistled as he pulled some kind of black pistol out next. "I bet that isn't tuna fish in the Tupperware either" the black agent said. 

"Hey! That's not mine!"

"Shut up and get down."

I was forced back down to the carpet and cuffed again.  I changed my mind.  I hoped that little blond bitch would walk in the door.  This was starting to suck in a major sort of way."

Monday, December 26, 2011

The Contractor - Part 1f - by nova

I thought I was good at getting a woman out of her clothes quickly but she had me beat by a country mile. Looking back I wonder where she hid that third arm because that is the only way she could have stripped me, her, and still managed to reach between my legs and grab hold of the center of my existence. I always run a wager in my head about women, is she shaved, a landing strip, or full fuzz? I went with shaved and was right. My prize? Burying my head between the legs and going for the taste test. What happened next was good, very good, and would have been over far quicker if I hadn't slowed everything down enough to fetch the condom out my wallet. A condom she so obligingly put on after taking me deeper down her throat then any woman ever had before. "God bless Swedish women!" went through my head along with, "I really have to go to Europe." Then I quit thinking.

 Not many minutes later I was on my back in the bed feeling rather good about life and thinking about how I might even make it back to the job without being too late. She was lying beside me, I looked over at her beautiful profile, smiled at her, and said, "That was great." She smiled back, told me I was everything good she had heard about American men, an asked if I was thirsty?

"Yeah. I could use some water or whatever."
"Me too. I always get thirsty after good sex. Are you hungry?"

I thought about it. I was but we were done for now and I really needed the job. "Ah...I really should be getting back to about dinner? Can we do that?" I didn't have to fake the underlying tone of hopeful anticipation and need for her to say "Yes." She didn't hesitate, "Of course I am." She sealed it when she reached between my legs and gave me a squeeze. Laughing she told me, "I love American food." Yes indeed. I was going to have to go to Europe.

She jumped out of bed and told me, "I'll be right back. I'm going to get us something to drink. When I get back I want you to call my cell so we can stay in touch. I have to go by the embassy later and I'm not sure how long it will take. Plus I'm dying of thirst." She told me all this as she got dressed. I enjoyed watching her do it. "Sure. Can you get me a Pepsi Lite if they have it?"

"That's my favorite too!" She gave me a perfect white smile, waggled her fingers at me, grabbed her bag and was out the door. I watched the door shut, stretched, and scratched my balls, and decided I would wait until she got back to get dressed. Getting back to work was seeming less important again anyways.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

The Contractor - Chapter 1e - by nova

We walked to her hotel room with her setting the pace. She was moving us right along and snapping heads with every step. We talked as we walked, her name was Bridgette, and I told her mine. She liked my name, repeated it a couple of times, and told me it sounded it like a cowboys name. I liked that, my witty reply was something like, "Yeah, I've been told I'm good at riding." She gave me a knowing look and I replied with my studly manly man grin. We were bonding.

Her hotel was the Red Roof Inn, one I had never been inside of before. Actually, I had only been in one hotel in DC in my life and I was curious to see what it was like. From the outside I expected a lot of black people and foreigners but that was just the help. Every one else was white which was a surprise.

We breezed past the front desk and pressed the button for the elevator. While we waited for it I asked her, "Not bad. You like it?"

She gave a little shrug, and replied, "It's okay. I've seen worse."

She had to swipe a mag card to get the doors to close. As soon as they did she was on me, we were still lip locked and my hand was clutching her ass when the door opened again. A family was waiting to get on, I still remember the fathers frown and the giggle beginning to surface on the little girls face as we brushed past them. Seconds later we inside her room and she had me pinned against the just closed door.

Friday, December 23, 2011

The Contractor - Part 1d by nova

What happened next was too good to be true but I wasn't going to complain. She stopped, smiled again, an asked me, "What do you think of all this?" She had an accent which just made her hotter. I went stupid but was saved from junior high stammering because of my script.

"I think they're demonstrating that the American spirit is still alive. People everywhere are waking up and realizing that the 1% are looting the worlds economy while condemning the planet to environmental disaster and the remaining populace to poverty."

I followed it with a solemn look and tried really hard to maintain eye contact. Damn that woman was top heavy.

"You're so right. Do you mind if I sit? I've been walking all morning."

Did I mind? Of course not. I patted the ledge I was sitting on and told her, "Sure. You new here?"

She sat down and even better she sat close. She was wearing black jeggings. I loved women in jeggings. Spandex hadn't died -- it had just mutated into something better. When she sat down she bent over just a little to set her backpack down and her blouse gaped open enough for me to see the swell of her breasts. I got even stupider if that was possible.

"Oh yes. I today walked from the monument to your President Jefferson to the Capitol and back to here. Now I am hungry." Then she dropped her eyes to my crotch for just a second. A faint but definite alarm bell rang somewhere way back where a tiny part of my brain still capable of rational thought still functioned.

"So where are you from?"

"Sweden." She smiled. "It was a long flight. Have you ever been there?"

My brain did fireworks accompanied by the sound of a jackpot cashing in. "Swedish! Yes! A Euroslut!" layered over the top of it.
Don't fuck this up Dakota!

"No. I've only been to Asia...courtesy of the US government."

She looked at me quizzically. I noticed the faint crows feet traced in the skin that radiated from those beautiful blue eyes. "Cougar! I'm going to be raped!" Damn, I was hitting the checklist of easiness with marks in all the boxes.

"Ah no...always wanted too. No, I just got out of the military. Hey, maybe you could tell me more about Sweden over lunch. I'll even buy, not that there is a lot of choices here."

We were close enough to Potbellies and I could tell her it was ethnic American food. There were better places close by but I wasn't going to spend that much money even for a Swedish super model. If she said she wanted to try one I would just plead cash flow problems from buying textbooks for my classes. Hell, with a little luck she would pick up the check.

"I like military men. They are so...clean. I have a better idea. Why don't we eat in my room. I bought some healthy food, here it is so hard to find, and you can tell me about your adventures in far away places."

"Sure! I would love to but I would rather hear you talk about Sweden."

"I'm sure we will find many things to talk about." She stood up, and said, "Come. I'm so very hungry."

I wondered if that was some kind of Swedish code word for horny. I hoped so.I was going to be late getting back to work but I was okay with that.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

The Contractor - Chapter 1c - by nova

I didn't know what to think about the OWS people. I knew a little about how bad the economy was because all I could find was temp work and I was happy to have found that. I was hoping to get a real job, preferably one with the federal government, so I could make some real money because what I was making as a temp wasn't cutting it and my meager savings was depleting rapidly. Far too rapidly.

Not that I made all that much doing IT for a non-profit that was big on saving the world but less concerned about paying the people who actually worked there a decent wage. I did learn that the "save the world" types usually were self righteous assholes when it came to dealing with real people which was probably why I was a little leery of them.

That all changed when I met her. Looking back, most of the changes in life, and few of them were positive, resulted from my intense love of women.

I changed OWS sites a few days before I met her. The old one wasn't working for me anymore. The tourist season was coming to an end, there was a chill in the air, and I was getting tired of walking the extra block for nothing. I was eating lunch at the other site, the one in front of the National Theater when I saw her.

She was gorgeous. Blond, blue eyes, full breasted on a slim, tight body. She was also alone which was even better. No problem with cutting her out of the herd or the friend who took about three seconds to become impatient. Best of all she was taking pictures with her cell and glancing back at me. I smiled. She smiled back. She started walking towards me. Life was looking good.


These are from part of the OWS-DC encampment. This is the one a few blocks from the main one in McPherson Square. It's on the plaza in front of National Theater and the National Press Building.

The Contractor - Chapter 1b - by nova

My life has been a series of accidents that I have managed to show up for. Nothing really out of the ordinary, the usual right place, wrong time. I ended up in the business because I was setup, and I will probably exit it through one.

I can't say I liked the man I became but I tried to do what I thought was best as long as it didn't inconvenience me too much. I would like to say that what I write here is my apology, that the scales have dropped from my eyes, that it hurt following off the horse, but you know what? I would be lying, and I promised myself I would tell the truth here. I have seen the world through all the rose colored glasses offered by each of the major players and when you take them off you see that the messed up, tired, and getting worse shit hadn't gotten any rosier.

I was one of the first people to consistently show up when the OWS movement first started. Not because I was ready to protest the evil injustices that the bankers had inflicted upon the innocent borrowers of America. Hell, I had a job, of sorts. I didn't have much of a life but who did back then? What I also didn't have was a woman and OWS attracted them. I was working a temp job a couple blocks from McPherson Square in Washington, DC where they liked to lurk. I went there because it was an amusing way to kill time and when I started going there were attractive women buzzing around.

There were a few DC women, mostly drawn to check it out because they worked nearby. I didn't bother with them though they would have been a lot more convenient over the long term. Why? I couldn't afford them. To into the career, money, and status all of which I was sorely lacking in.

I tried working the summer tourist women but that was a no go for the most part until I learned the secret. It was easy once I figured it out. I just needed to look like a protester, talk like a protester, but stay well groomed and casually mention I had a place of my own. On the weekends I brought my guitar, stayed on the edges, and strummed. That was a killer once I had the pitch perfected. If it seemed appropriate, and with the European tourists it always was, I would also ask towards the end if they liked to get high?

The women of OWS? They were interesting, but at the time I found them lacking. I hadn't really thought it out but somewhere in the back of my head I had realized that if you want to hunt the same waterhole on a daily basis hooking up with one of the local sheep would mean no more variety in my meals.

I was young, white, and in shape from my time in the Navy and because I didn't eat a lot. I worked the fact that I was a "vet" in at the top as part of my casual give them the data they want to hear so I could get some pitch. It wasn't as one way as it sounds. I mean they got to experience the passionate young rebel for a night or two and I got laid. It evolved into the same pitch I used without much change over the next few years with pretty decent success.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

The Contractor - Chapter 1a - by nova

Yeah, I'm a contractor. Not one of the best and not one of the worst. Mostly I have been around since the beginning and I saw a lot of shit happen. Once I was proud of that, you know in a been there done that kind of way. The problem is I've become a liability and believe you me, I know what happens when you become a liability to the people that run things. It's only a matter of time before I disappear or have an accident. Probably I will just disappear. It's no longer important to observe the niceties and hasn't been for years.

They'll want to keep it low key though. I would. I'm not the only loose end out there and it would be smart to take of as many of us as possible before word gets around.

So I'm writing this as my insurance policy and at best it's going to be a weak form of term life. My hope is it will buy me some time and time is what I need the most. The winds of change are blowing and if I can avoid getting blown away I might be able to come out the other side in one piece. I just typed that, looked at it, and told myself "cliche." The problem is cliches, like generalizations, work because they speak the truth. What I write here is the truth and many of the people who will populate it never had enough originality to even qualify as one.

During the low moments,the late at night, strain the ears listening to nothing and everything nights, my heart beat thumping in my chest nights, I know if they want me bad enough nothing will matter. What makes it even more ironic is the only people that could help me would be more than happy to put a bullet in my head. Life is a bitch. It always has been. It will always be one.