He knew, the moment the words left his mind and entered the search bar, he was in too deep to stop. No ladder to climb, no handholds within reach; the only way out is through.
"Dog Handjob".
How? How did it always come to this? Why did he always come to this? How long would it be before the next, more diabolical intrusive thought wriggled its way into his search history?
Randall Carter felt as though he'd exhausted every conceivable way out. Therapy, exercise, meditation, guided meditation, being mean to himself, being nice to himself, waking up early, sleeping in, staying busy, relaxing, throwing his phone off of his third story balcony. The last was a mistake made out of exasperation and desperation. He'd had to get a new one. His first thought was, I wonder if the videos will look better.
The morality of his preferred masturbatory material wasn't the only thing frustrating to Randall. He'd mostly buried that issue long ago under piles of discarded tissue. The content was wretched, but more importantly, it was a massive time sink.
Two hours a day didn't seem like a lot until it was gone. Two hours that could have been spent on a new hobby, getting in shape, the movie he'd been meaning to watch for ages. He could have learned a new language or two with that much dedicated time. Instead, he would scroll, type, and pull on his dick until he found something wild enough to ramp him up to climax. Then he would sit, emptied and alone, sore from the duration of the beating, covered in his own mess and wishing he had his time back.
The time spent was infuriating, adding pressure to the shame. Still, that wasn't the worst of it.
The worst part, to Randall, was that the pornography had taken up a huge portion of his entire existence. His life had become dedicated to the watching or eradication of porn. YouTube, podcasts, even WebMD. When he wasn't actively seeking something to watch, he was watching something to help him stop. He had a family, not that long ago, a life in which porn was just a small piece of a great puzzle. Now, the puzzle was just a sticky amalgamation of other people's sex lives.
It wasn't always that bad, and wouldn't always be. Randall woke up one morning to a peculiar email in his inbox.
STOP JERKING OFF 4EVER // 3 EZ STEPS
Oh for fucks sake. If it were that easy to quit one of the hundreds of methods he'd already exhausted would have set him straight by now. He should be able to simply put his dick down and walk away. Let me guess, leave the phone on the charger, breath, meditate and then proceed to fuck off.
He closed the email and went about his day. On the commute he thought about the email. Arriving at his desk he thought about it again. At lunch, he leaned back in his chair and began to scroll …the news…when he thought about it again.
The damned thing wouldn't leave him alone. It was stupid, definitely spam, probably virus laden and dangerous. Randall closed his browser and opened Gmail. Before he could think too much about it, he clicked the link.
The screen went black.
"Hello?" Randall lifted the phone, squinting through his glasses as though seeing the problem clearly would make it go away. He pressed the buttons on the side, held the power button for ten seconds, held all the buttons at the same time and tried tapping wildly at the screen.
Nothing.
Darkness.
Fuck.
He reached for the charger connected to his desktop and plugged it in. And again. And again. When it didn't work the third time he slammed his fingers into the screen like a belligerent toddler. He hit the buttons over and over before deciding to Google how to get the phone back on.
His mind was a mess of passwords, bank accounts, search histories and chaos. He'd seen some shady videos, but nothing he could be jailed or blackmailed for, right? The Russian videos blurred the line of consent, but that was pretend for immersion! He hadn't downloaded any of the bestiality and all of the titles said clearly that the girls featured were 18. He was sure. There are the pictures, but…
Fuck!
He'd barely set his fingers on the keyboard when he noticed that his desktop screen had also changed.
A blinking white bar, a stark metronome contrasting a pitch black screen. He tried to type but nothing happened.
Hi, Randall!
The words flickered across the screen, quick and confident. Shocked, Randall pushed himself away from the desk violently. The wheels refused to spin causing a loud grating sound as they scraped against the hardwood floor. Randall was suddenly very conscious of where he was.
The office wasn't packed but it wasn't empty either. There were three cubicles that had a direct line of sight into Randall's office and all three held coworkers staring back at him curiously.
"Sorry," he mouthed, waving them off. He stood and crossed to the door, closing it and drawing the blinds before turning to face his computer again. Slowly, he rounded the desk. The words had vanished. Randall felt immense relief for a moment, but only a moment. More words appeared.
You can talk to me, buddy, just type out what you'd like to say.
The fear and panic soured and bubbled into a venomous hatred. It boiled over and came roaring out through his fingertips.
Listen here, you motherfucking garbage piece of shit. I don't know who you are, but I'll find out. I don't know where you are, but I'll fucking find you. I know people who can fuck your whole life up, BUDDY, don't fuck with me. Give me back my phone and computer and fuck off before I fucking destroy you.
As he finished the tirade, Randall found himself breathing hard. He felt good; a slight smile played at the corners of his lips.
The blinking icon kept its pace.
The feeling of righteousness didn't last. It was quickly replaced by doubt, fear and shame. He felt cold and shaky, nauseous and dizzy. A million what-ifs ripped through his mind too fast to settle on one. The white bar blinked.
Get it all out?
What Randall wanted to type was, fuck you, but he thought better of it. If this person could cut off his ability to access his cell phone and work computer, while simultaneously being able to use them against him, what else could they do? What else do they have?
Okay, Randall typed, please give me back my phone and computer. I am at work and this is very serious. If you want money, I don't have any.
Randall, pal, your pornography addiction is much more important than this job. I mean, look at you! Sitting there in your third floor office of the Park County Building, third office from the left, scrolling through porn on your lunch break with the door wide open! This is a new low, my friend. I'm here to help!
How do you know where I am? The nausea was getting worse, he could feel the back of his throat straining and salivating.
I know all about you, Randall Carter, Age 45, father to Matthew and Molly Carter who live with their mother Brenda Sellinger. You guys had a pretty messy divorce! She got the house at 1534 Gilroy Drive and a hefty child support payment. I don't want your money, Randall, I know you need it more than I do. What I want is to help you kick this messy addiction!
Randall's pale skin went white. The nausea became overwhelming and the contents of his stomach forced their way out. He reached for the trash can but missed and emptied his breakfast onto himself and the floor. He couldn't breath, was covered in vomit and his fingers were clumsy as they typed…
I don't believe you.
Gross. Also, I get that. But you have to. Believe me, I'm a really good guy.
Is this some kind of church thing?
Nope, not at all.
Then what, you just help people?
Call me a philanthropist. Randy, I'm not important here. You getting clean is what we need to focus on.
Randall paused. He looked around his desk at the blinking icon, the vomit, and the dead phone. He didn't have any options. The only way out is through.
Okay.
YES! That's what I like to hear. You won't regret this, I promise! By the end of this little sesh you'll never look at porn again! That's what you want, right?
Yes.
Awesome! Oh man, I'm so confident in you Randy. Some people take a lot longer to give in. But you're malleable, I like that! Oh, and also, congratulations! You've completed the first step! Just by being agreeable, you're ready to move on to step two! Give yourself a pat on the back, bud, you deserve it!
Randall sat, quiet and still.
I said, pat yourself on the back, Randall.
Randall reached up over his shoulder and patted himself twice.
Good man! Okay! On to step two. Are you ready to do some healing?
Yes, please. Randall didn't feel much like healing. He didn't feel much like anything at all. He looked through the office window and wondered if he would die on impact.
Randy, this is going to go so fast. You're such a quick study! Okay, I need you to tell me why you watch porn.
Randy stared at the question, wishing it would go away. He had an idea why he watched…
Hey Randy, type it out man. I'm here for you. The time for thinking of excuses and justifications is long gone. Now it's time to heal. In order for me to help you, I need to know what you're thinking.
I don't know, I'm bored, tired, lonely?
Keep going, bud.
Randall let out a frustrated sigh and typed quickly.
I started in middle school, just searching here and there for whatever, boobs, you know? When you're young you don't think about brain chemistry and neural pathways and body issues and stuff like that. You just kind of do what feels good. And now, Randall could feel tears incoming, I can't seem to stop.
Keep digging, we're almost there!
I don't know what you want from me, it feels good, so I do it!
Does it?
Yes! I mean, no. I don't know man, I just can't stop!
Yes you can, Randy, I believe in you! We're almost there!
Randall looked away from the screen. He didn't want to talk anymore. He didn't want to be anymore. He wondered if the ceiling fan was sturdy enough to hold his weight and if his tie long enough. The window seemed more inviting with each passing moment. He didn't want to be injured or paralyzed, but he thought that if he dove head first he might be okay.
Randy, buddy, that was a good start. I can see that you understand the basics of the human condition, addiction, etc. From the amount of knowledge you have about your issue I can tell that you've spent a lot of time with YouTube videos and podcasts. Self awareness is the first step! So, tell me, why do you watch porn?
I am so fucking tired. All the time. I hate this fucking job. I have always hated this whole career. I don't give a fuck about quotas and spreadsheets and fourth-fucking-quarter projections. Then, when it got really bad, I would go home, and my whole day of fucking miserable bullshit was not enough. Not enough money, not enough time, not present enough, not clean enough, not enough. Every day was not enough. I would sit in the bathroom and jerk off all day just to get away from them and all the bullshit that came with them. And now that they're gone, I'm just alone. Look at me, I'm covered in vomit and talking to you about jerking off and how much I fucking hate myself. I don't know it, like, shuts my brain down. It gets rid of all of these shitty feelings, and I know, I need healthier habits. I need to find fulfillment, that's what all the videos say, But I don't give a fuck about anything! I don't have hobbies, or friendships, or a partner. I can't put my dick away! That's why I jerk off. I don't care anymore. I hate it, I hate my dick, I hate my life! I just want to die.
The tears came then as Randall sobbed loudly. He didn't care that his coworkers might hear him. He didn't care if they walked in to check on him. This was it. This was the reckoning he'd always known was coming.
Randy, buddy, THAT WAS AMAZING! Holy crap dude! Did you know all that before or is this all fresh for you.
It's fresh. It was difficult for Randall to type with his shoulders still heaving from the sobbing.
My guy, you're ready for step three. I'm SO intensely proud of you man, give yourself another pat on the back.
Randall followed instructions.
I know this has been difficult for you so let's get this done. This is the final step, the climax. Are you ready?
Yes.
Great to hear. You'll need your thinking cap for this one so take a couple deep breaths to clear your mind.
Randall took a couple deep breaths.
Excellent. So, this step is option based. I'll explain them as I present them so please wait to say anything until after I finish to avoid confusion. Here we go:
Option 1:
Release your search history to all contacts and law enforcement. That means that your friends, family and coworkers will all see it. Your kids have phones, bud. Your daughter will see the insane amount of searches for "teens", your son will see that daddy is really into rape and your mom will see that you've watched a video called, "Dog Handjob" 67 times in the last month. That could be pretty ROUGH. ;-) What I'm seeing, which by the way, incognito mode does NOT hide your history well, is also mortifying enough to end a career. Who knows what your boss will do when everyone at the company knows all of your intimate details? This kind of shame will be a burden, but not as big of a burden as continuing to bury yourself in it. I'm seeing here that you've started researching the dark web? Randy, shame on you.
Randall couldn't do anything but continue to cry. It was all over. His life, as he knew it, was finished.
Option 2:
You can cut your dick off.
The icon blinked innocuously.
Randy, I can tell that you're torn. Neither option is what you had in mind, but I'm here to tell you, buddy, drastic times call for drastic measures. You can either face up to the shame, therefore freeing yourself from it or you can cut your dick off. Sometimes it takes the simplest solution of all to solve a problem. Cut your dick off, boom, no more porn. That easy. You can let go of the shame of the past, knowing that your family and friends will never know what a disgusting monster you used to be.
How?
Great question! Open up your desk drawer. Check that out!
Inside the drawer was a bottle of prescription pills and a pair of long, shiny scissors.
Fun side note, those pills are used to slow heavy menstrual bleeding. They'll work alright to get you to the hospital though! You'll need your cell back, here.
The phone lit up showing a picture of Randall and his two children. The picture was taken nearly ten years ago. They were happy then, all of them. Randall had more in his phone that included his ex-wife but he didn't like to be reminded of her.
I'll even call 911 for you!
The screen unlocked and 911 appeared in the dialer.
No extra effort required!
Randall looked at the scissors, wondering if they were sharp enough to cut through all at once or if he'd have to try a couple times. The thought made him flinch. He picked them up, opened them and ran his finger along the bottom blade, nicking it in the process.
Just a quick snip and it all goes away. This is how this is going to work:
If you choose option A., just hit the (A) key on your keyboard. I'll be completely honest with you, your search history isn't the worst thing I've ever seen. I let the police deal with the extra gnarly ones…the encrypted folder guys…yuck! But still, I've seen a lot of guys deeper into the "porno rabbit hole" than you. The bad news is that this won't help your custody battle AT ALL. I can't believe you kept the pics you took at your daughter's pool party, Those caused the divorce in the first place! I'll delete those for you if you choose to cut your dick off. Obviously they need to stay if you choose option A. Randy, bud, if the fact that you STILL have them doesn't tell you how important this decision is, nothing will. We haven't even touched on the police stuff. Bestiality is illegal, Randy. If I were you, I know what I would choose.
Randall looked down at the scissors. He was all cried out. All of his shame had been laid bare before him. All of his worst mistakes, all of the choices that had led him to this decision. He didn't want to hide anymore, in a sick way, he was happy that it was all finally over. He knew he should have deleted the pictures, he'd tried to before. He could never quite force himself to clear the trash folder.
He stood and dropped his pants, underwear and all. He felt confident. He felt free. For the first time in so long, he felt hopeful.
Don't forget to take the pills!
Randall didn't see the message. It didn't take him two hours to climax this time. He wrapped the scissors around his width and cut off his dick.