Alright, so if I was a girl, and if I was a whore…
And just to be clear, I do NOT think that being a girl would automatically make me a whore, I’m not that - actually… maybe I am. No, I definitely am. Here, let me prove it.
In the United States, women make just under 50% of all the money, partially due to that wage gap myth that bitches are always bitching about. However, about 80% of consumer spending is either done by, or is influenced by women. As of my abduction, US consumer spending was about 15 trillion, and total income was sitting around 20 trillion. So women made about 10 trillion in total, but were responsible for 12 trillion in spending. Assuming they spent every cent that they earned (very possible), they’d still have an extra 2 trillion that men gave them ”out of the goodness of their hearts”. Per capita, that’s 36K a year.
Obviously, this is a sensitive topic, so I’d like to be precise with my words here - I’m not saying that EVERY woman is a whore. What I’m saying is that the AVERAGE woman is a whore making minimum wage. In addition to any other career that she decides to pursue - I don’t want to be reductive and imply that whoring is all women do, and all that they are capable of. I’ve met many extremely bright, capable women throughout my storied career as an ass-kisser. I’ve both worked with them and worked for them. Their people skills were wonderful, and made the workplace feel more like a home than a profession - theirs were some of my favorite asses to kiss. Metaphorically. I don’t think any of them wanted to get that close to me if they could help it.
So, I don’t mean to denigrate all that these incredible women are and all that they do.
All I’m trying to say is that… It’s an indisputable fact that they’re all also ON AVERAGE… minimum-wage whores.
I hope the nuance is getting through here.
So let’s try this again - if I was a girl, and if I was a whore…
Like an actual whore on the streets, waiting for Johns to walk by to pleasure them.
I’d wear a pair of kneepads as a bra. Because then, whenever it was time for sucky-sucky, I could just quickly pop the bra off and strap it to my knees. Then my knees don’t get chafed, and my customer gets an extra eyeful for his hard-earned dollar.
Now, I’ve driven through several shady parts of town in my time. I have never seen a whore wearing kneepads as a bra. And if that’s my competition, then I bet I could do way better than 36K a year.
----------------------------------------
I’d only been on the floor for a moment, and my knees were already starting to bother me. I knelt there, in the school hallway just in front of the principal’s office, earnestly pleading my case to Stella, who sat on a chair in front of me, one leg over the other, looking VERY unimpressed.
“Please Stella, I just need one favor.” I implored. “You know I’d do the same for you!”
“Do I?” Stella asked.
“Please! It has to do with getting my shackles removed!”
“Maybe I like you better with shackles. You’ll be easier to lock up when they catch you sniffing women’s feet in public, or whatever gymcels do for fun.”
I gritted my teeth. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy… but this wasn’t going to easy.
“Look, I’m not asking you to lie or anything. I’m just asking you to pretend that we don’t know each other, and to not contradict me.”
I had a story all mapped out to explain where my shackles had come from - but I couldn’t have Stella going around singing a different tune.
Stella shuffled in her seat. “You totally are asking me to lie, though.”
“Alright, maybe… but it’s for the greater good, I promise!”
I thought for a moment. This wasn’t getting anywhere… I’d have to break out the big guns.
“What if… we make a deal.” I began. “You still want to practice ice magic with the knife, right?”
Stella’s gaze focused. “I do.” she said emphatically.
“Well, I hid it - and I promise you’ll never find it. But if you do this favor for me, I’ll let you use it with me whenever I go to practice. Deal?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. It was a good deal. I really hadn’t wanted to make the offer, but she’d forced it out of me.
“Deal.” Stella said, nodding. “Shake on it.” she added, her eyes narrowing.
What the fuck did I even do to you, bitch?! Nothing! Stop making shit out of nothing!
I stood up and extended my hand. Stella didn’t do me the courtesy of standing up herself, but she reached out her hand all the same. Just as we were about to make physical contact for the very first time since our initial encounter, the principal’s door creaked open.
“Bradley and Stella?” a kindly older woman called out as she emerged. “Oh! There you are! Come right in!”
She spoke with gentleness, but with an edge of authority. My heart sank.
She’s gonna ask the tough questions, isn’t she…
Stella and I took our seats in a couple of wooden chairs placed opposite the principal’s desk. Bookshelves and stacks of papers lined the room, which was equipped with lanterns and a large window with sunlight streaming through. The principal was a large woman, and her desk came with a proportionally larger seat, subtly adding to my anxiety about having the shit grilled out of me during cross-examination. A slight, wispy old man had his own seat behind the principal’s desk.
“Allow me to introduce myself.” the principal began formally. “I’m Wylie Peuturs, the lead administrator at this academy. I’m responsible for keeping the school operational and ensuring that the children who learn here are given the best possible opportunity to grow and become valuable members of our nation. We’re joined today by Omega Mychal Brentson, the head of Castella’s royal society for the study of other-worlders. ”
“Good to meet you.” the old man said, nodding pleasantly, as Wylie continued.
“We’ve brought you in today because you identified to a staff member that you came from another world, is that correct?”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Stella and I nodded.
Wylie clasped her hands. “Excellent! And interestingly enough, you’re both from the same world, so we’ve decided to meet with both of you at once. Please, introduce yourselves: Tell us your name, age, and where exactly you’re from.”
“Hi, I’m Bradley Razzetti.” I responded quickly, taking the initiative. “I’m 31 years old… I swear that’s how old I am, and I’m originally from… Earth.”
Mychal pulled out a quill and started jotting notes on a spare piece of paper.
“What nation, on earth?”
“The United States.”
“Very good, we have records of other people from this country.” Mychal said, flipping through a stack of papers on his lap. “Please complete the following sentence for me - We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are…”
“Created equal.”
Mychal nodded. “The inventor of the lightbulb?”
“Edison”
“Dicks out for?”
“Harambe.”
Mychal nodded again. “Late 10s, possibly 20s… Name as many presidents as you can, from most recent to least.”
I scrunched my forehead, concentrating. Mychal had this one rogue strand of hair that swung back and forth hypnotically when he spoke… begging me to fuck up and say something I shouldn’t…
“Biden, Trump, Obama… Bush… Clinton… the other Bush… that’s all I know.” I conceded.
“Good enough. Now, what year were you from?”
“2023, measured from the birth of christ.”
“Fascinating! That may be the latest date we have on record - It will certainly help us narrow down the estimated date of Earth’s collapse event.”
“Uhmmmm”. I didn’t like the sound of that. I looked over and saw Stella looking even more shocked than I was.
Mychal continued taking notes, oblivious to the obvious distress that he had caused his guests.
“Are you familiar with any advanced technologies that could be used to improve life in Castella?” he asked.
Finally… time to take this planet to the modern age!
“Absolutely! There’s guns, and cars, and airplanes… satellites that fly around in space, and even smartphones, these little devices that fit in your pocket that can do anything from calculating numbers to browsing the internet and tipping gorgeous camgirls.” I said, flushed with pride.
So this is how Prometheus felt when he introduced fire to mankind… with my modern knowledge, I’ll become the god of this new world!
“...and would you be able to reproduce any of these technologies, given the materials you’ve seen around?” Mychal asked with bated breath.
Uh oh.
“...”
“I see. That’s a shame, but not unexpected.” Mychal sat back. “And what of you, young lady?”
“Oh… I’m Stella Davisson. I’m 27, and I’m from the United States as well… from the year 2016.” she said, looking at me worriedly.
Oh dear, that is a problem.
I decided to ignore it for now, praying that nonlinearity in the space-time continuum is one of those problems that resolves itself if you don’t think about it.
“Excellent,” Mychal said, “And how many stripes are on your country’s flag?”
“Thirteen.” Stella answered.
“In 1492, Columbus sailed the…”
Stella frowned. “Columbus was a genocidal conqueror who terrorized native peoples, we shouldn’t be celebrating-”
“She means ‘ocean blue’” I interjected, cutting her off. “I spoke to her outside, she’s definitely American.”
“I believe you.” Mychal reassured, “but let me ask you one more question to confirm… though you may not know this one.”
His eyes narrowed. Stella gulped. Thirty miles away, a tree fell down in the woods.
“How do you spell Harambe?”
“H-A-R-A-M-B-E. I saw it on the news.” Stella breathed out, relieved.
Mychal was satiated.
“It’s great to be formally introduced, Bradley and Stella.” Wylie beamed. “Now that we’ve established that you really are from Earth, we’ll cut you a deal. The royal society that Mychal heads conducts extensive interviews with individuals like yourselves, to better understand the worlds you come from. To compensate you for your time, we’ll allow you to eat at the dormitory of the nobles, and if any rooms open up, we’ll offer them to you.”
My stomach got an erection.
“Deal!” Stella and I said together, as if the offer was first-come-first-serve.
“I look forward to working with you.” Mychal smiled.
“Which brings us to your more recent history.” Wylie began. I gave Stella a look - this is where I would need her.
“Can you describe what has happened to you since your arrival on Alterra?” Wylie asked. “Let’s start with you, Bradley. I’m curious to know how you got those shackles.”
I swear, I’ll never understand Alterrans. Stella’s got fucking horns, but somehow my shackles are the strangest thing in the world. Still, it was good that I went first, because the story I was about to unload was a sack of horse shit.
I opened the asshole formerly known as my mouth and spewed the tale that John and I had concocted to explain my mythril bracelets. It was a certified 100% fresh thrill ride - I woke up in a cave and was promptly sold into non-kinky bondage by a passing band of Solian slave traders. The client was a wealthy individual who was intrigued by my otherworldly origin and slender, boyish thighs. However, the prospect of a long night with such a treasure got him so worked up that he had a heart attack and died. Typical Solian scum. Rather than stay and be executed, I slipped away in the ensuing commotion and hitched a ride to Castella with a passing band of merchants. Apparently Castella and Sunhome haven’t been on good terms for awhile, so they had no issue harboring a fugitive slave.
/end-of-bullshit
As anticipated, Stella’s eyebrows were in a competition to see which could one-up the other, but she graciously held her tongue. For now. A woman with a secret is like Chekhov with a gun - all you can do is duck for cover and hope it goes off in a harmless direction.
Wylie asked a few additional questions, such as which province in Sunhome I’d been brought to, what was the name of the nobleman I’d stayed with, but she seemed satisfied when I couldn’t give any answers. After that, it was Stella’s turn. She gave a much more accurate story than I had, but leaving out the part where we met.
The final point of business was a brief overview of Castellan law. I gotta admit, the meeting was starting to drag on, and Wylie was starting to sound like one of those million-word legal waivers so I spaced out through most of it, only catching on to small tidbits.
“…xually indecent behavior will be added to the list of…”
“…forbidden, even with the consent of the cannibalized party…”
*yawn*
“...looks like we’re all done here for the day. Do either of you have any questions before we adjourn?”
I blinked.
“No, but thank you for going over all of that with me! Castella sounds like a wonderful place!” Stella said, standing up.
Was she actually listening to all of that?!
I furrowed my brow for a moment, noticing for the first time that Wylie had a stone pawn hanging from her neck, and that Mychal had a silver one.
Why am I so uneasy…
Oh right, the Earth is in danger!
“Mychal, earlier… you mentioned a ‘collapse event’. What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“Well, you may have noticed already, but Alterra gets visitors from different worlds and different times. Each world has its own specific range of times that we get visitors from, ranging from a few hundred years to a few thousand - the active phase.”
I gulped, sensing where this was going. Mychal’s face hardened.
“Active phases don’t just end for no reason. Craterans and Calderans who come from the very end of such a phase tend to describe their worlds in very similar terms. Precarious. Volatile. Do you understand?”
“Yeah… I do.” I said, stunned. “But I didn’t realize things were that bad…”
Mychal raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you might recognize the symptoms of a world that is about to end. Devastating new weapons? Environmental decay? Moral decay? Explosive population growth, followed by a collapse? Plague?”
I opened my mouth, assuming that I would have a response.
I was wrong.