![]() ![]() I lay a plastic sheet down on the floor in front of the camera and do so. The following is a transcript of the first page of the earliest document.Ĭlient requests that I position myself with my spread butt cheeks held close to the camera and stay that way while occasionally calling him a “dirty little limp-dick slave boy.”Ĭlient requests that I urinate into a bucket. I started skimming through the earliest log and it quickly became obvious that Enid was no air-traffic controller. But I had to wonder what someone who could afford over a grand a month on rent was doing using a computer from ’05 in 2014. If my girlfriend’s condo complex hadn’t been so upscale, that fact wouldn’t have bothered me so much. The computer itself was from the mid-2000s at the latest. The name of each document was a month followed by a year, starting on “February, 2012” and ending with “January, 2014.” The “logs” folder contained over a dozen Word documents. The seven folders were labeled, from top to bottom: “music”, “movies”, “pictures”, “art”, “writing”, “video”, and finally “logs.”Ĭall it the power of placement, but I clicked on “logs” first mainly because every other folder had a name that was self-explanatory. There were seven folders on the desktop along with a small assortment of program icons: Microsoft Word, Photoshop, a program for live-streaming video that I had never heard of, etc. Enid was most likely a former tenant of my girlfriend’s condo who had used the closet for storage but that doesn’t explain why she had felt the need to wedge her computer behind a water-heater. The maintenance guy had found the tower when he was replacing a part on the water-heater, which was located at the back of Alice’s bedroom closet. I wasn’t looking to steal anyone’s identity. I wasn’t on some mission to invade this poor girl’s privacy. Yup, definitely a girl’s computer, though maybe “Enid” wasn’t 90 after all, but simply the victim of parents with an unfortunate taste in names.Īt this point, I feel it’s worth noting that I am not a monster. The computer unlocked to reveal a desktop with a painting of the DC villain Harley Quinn as its background. But first, out of simple compulsive habit, I typed “password” and hit ENTER. I turned the computer on and was greeted by a Windows XP password-entry screen for a user named “Enid.” Apparently, the original owner of this computer was a 90 year-old woman.īecause a lot of my friends are terrible people, I knew that there were ways around Windows passwords that required little more than a thumb-drive and several dubious keyword searches. I already had the remnants of a similar Dell model stashed in a closet at my place complete with a compatible monitor, A/C cord, etc. In my world that’s called “asking for it.” Apparently that’s a list that doesn’t include me though because, upon finding an old desktop computer tower hidden behind the water-heater in my girlfriend Alice’s condo, my first reaction was to bring the computer home and dig through its files. It’s a bad habit that I clearly have no idea how to break, which is why my current situation should come as absolutely no surprise to anyone who’s been paying attention. Those who’ve read my earlier posts know that I seem to find darkness wherever I go. That being said, anyone expecting hardcore erotica is going to be severely underwhelmed. ![]() If the title and that NSFW label didn’t tip you off already, consider this your formal notice. TRIGGER ALERT: The story below contains penises. ![]()
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