Message-ID: <29706asstr$986429401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: michaeld38@aol.communism (MichaelD38)
Subject: {ASSM} Michael Empties His Hopper (MichaelD)(fant, ff, M+F, hist, nosex)(1/2)
Date: Wed,  4 Apr 2001 20:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
AUTHOR'S NOTE AND LEGAL STUFF
I did not e-mail you this story.  If you unexpectedly found it in your mailbox,
it's because your kid and/or your spouse is subscribing to adult newsgroups
without your knowledge.  Flame them, not me.
This story contains explicit sex.  If you're a minor, you've obviously gotten
past whatever paltry filters your parents tried to put on your computer, so
hell, you might as well read it.  No one ever died from reading about sex.
This story is mine.  Free reposting and archiving is okay; commercial use is
not (that includes using it on some slimeball banner farm).  Contact me if you
have any questions; cross me and I'll have you fed to rabid weasels.
This is a random collection of five dead story fragments, presented in no
particular order, in an effort to empty my hopper of unfinished prose.  I
present it not as part of the MichaelD oeuvre but as a glimpse of what doesn't
qualify for prime time at MichaelD, Inc.  Don't expect a whole lot, eh?
My stories, including this one, are archived at:
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www
www.storiesonline.net
---
MICHAEL EMPTIES HIS HOPPER (fant, ff, M+F, hist, nosex)
Copyright 2001 by MichaelD38@aol.com.  No commercial use without prior
authorization.
<->
Title: A Fairy Tale
When the snow finally began to fall, the moon had long since set, chasing the
sun, and inky blackness cloaked the forest.  A soft hiss was the only sign of
the descending bits of ice, which settled first onto the long branches of the
trees (tall fragrant pines all of them, for little else filled this end of the
world), then the dry detritus of the forest floor.  Only when the wind picked
up after midnight did the snow begin to pile up against the door of the
cottage.
It was an insignificant thing, walls of mortared stone, a thatch roof, a single
chimney, from which arose a thin stream of smoke (the last trace of dinner,
perhaps?).  A single path led from the door into the forest; where it went from
there, one could not tell so easily.  Dry firewood lay stacked high against one
wall.  
A single lamp burned in the window.  Through it, were you to approach and peer
through the blurry, hand-cast glass pane, you might see the cottage's owner (or
at least she though of herself that way)-a fluffy calico cat.  She sniffed at a
draft in the window.  It was far too cold for her, whatever interesting things
might be going on outside.  She walked back down the bookcase, gracefully
threading her way past canisters of dried herbs and jars of pickled forest
creatures.
The fire was down; there was too little warmth there either.  The cat finally
returned to the bed, jumping up, and curled up on her housemate's lap.  The
woman stirred, but did not awake.  The book that had put her to sleep shifted
on the covers as the cat found a spot she liked.  She sniffed at the book.  A
trace odor of something odd drifted from it-bat wings or mouse tails perhaps. 
She fought the instinct to claw at the book, knowing by now that books were not
good eating.
She curled up tighter, wrapping her tail around her, and fell asleep in a few
minutes.
---
---
Untitled.
When California began its lottery some years back, the stated purpose was to
benefit the schools, since the revenue from ticket sales was supposed to
replace the tax money that had been lost to Proposition 13.  Whether the system
is better off now depends on who you ask, but if you want to ask *me*, the
school kids where I live are certainly better off because of the Lottery.  At
least from my perspective.  God knows I am.
A year ago, I was living in a trailer park just outside Fresno.  I played the
lottery every week like most of the other trash in the neighborhood, but I had
yet to win more than a few bucks doing it.  About the middle of last March, the
jackpot got stacked up because nobody had won in a few weeks.  When it topped
$80 million that Friday, I took my paycheck from my job behind the register at
Circle K and blew it all on Lottery tickets.  Honest to God.  I don't know what
I planned on paying the rent with, but that was what I did.
So come Saturday night, I plopped myself in front of the TV with a 12 pack of
PBR and my pile of tickets.  I had begun to realize what an idgit thing I had
done blowing my whole check on the Lottery, so by the time the broadcast came
on, I was about as wired as a rat in a boarded-up shithouse.
I had so many tickets that I couldn't keep up with the balls dropping into the
slot, but I had the presence of mind to write down the numbers before the show
cut to a commercial.  It took me another three or four minutes to figure out I
had hit the goddamned jackpot.  
Well, I started hooting and hollering and spraying beer around my trailer until
that old bag Nellie, who managed the park, came banging on my door telling me
to shut the fuck up.  So I told her to shove her big mouth up her fat ass
'cause I was getting out of there.  Goddamn, I sure don't miss that old bat.
Anyway, I had the choice of taking the money over twenty years or getting it
all in one big check, so of course I wanted it all.  Once the tax man took his
bite, I was looking at a pile of just over $25 million in cold cash.  I went
out and bought me a new cherry-red Corvette, and for a week or two, I was too
busy partying and buying beer for all the friends I suddenly had to think about
moving out of the trailer park.  But when I drove my new car into a tree and
fucking totaled it two weeks after getting the money, I decided it was time to
start looking for new digs.
I went into the nearest Century 21 office and told them I wanted to buy a big
ranch somewhere far the fuck away from Fresno.  Pretty soon, they found me this
hundred-acre spread up past Napa, with a big old mansion right in the middle of
it.  Whoever had lived there before had it done up in some dumb faggoty-ass
Southwestern style, so I had them rip all that shit out and put in some cool
tiger-skin patterned carpet.  I bought six big-screen TV's and a La-z-boy for
each one, then went down to the local swap meet and bought damn near every neon
beer sign and velvet painting they had.  The house even had a cool wine cellar,
where I could stockpile enough PBR to last me five years.
Once I got done decorating the place, though, I started to get bored.  I'd
dumped all my old friends back in Fresno and didn't know a damned soul up here.
 I ran through all the chicks in the local escort service without finding one I
liked much, 
---
---
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This story is one more in the continuing Kaitlyn-Becca saga.  Those few of you
who bothered to read my contribution to the Fantasy Train may recall a
reference to this story therein.  Consistent with the previous two stories
("Bad Girls" and "Airheads"), this one also filches the title of a completely
unrelated movie.  "Scenes From a Mall" is also a Woody Allen film starring
Allen and Bette Midler.  I don't suppose I need to say that no relationship is
intended or should be inferred.
SCENES FROM A MALL, or, KAITLYN AND BECCA GO SHOPPING
<->
"I am so fucking bored.  I cannot believe how fucking bored I am."
I shake my head at Becca.  I fucking knew this was going to happen.
"This was your lame idea.  I wanted to stay home and just hang out there."
"I'd be even more bored there."
---
---
Untitled
Preface.
Within male barroom subculture, there is a popular myth that goes something
like this.  Since, according to the law of averages, there must be a certain
non-zero percentage of women out there who are looking for anonymous sex, it
ought to be possible to get laid by doing nothing more than going around and
asking enough women, "Do you want to fuck?"
The absence of a successful proof of this theorem (it's always, "a friend of a
guy I know tried it once") has never dented its popularity among horny men in a
bar.  That dealing with several hundred angry rejections seems preferable to
honestly trying to get to know someone should tell you something about men in
general, but that isn't the point of this story.  I bring it up to address the
crux of the theorem: I am here to tell you that it is possible to use the law
of averages to get laid.
Did I troll the barrooms for anonymous sex one night, you might ask?  No.  What
I did was something else entirely.  And it has worked far better than I ever
expected.
Let me back up before I go any further.  Six years ago, when I was twenty years
old, I dropped out of college to start my own company.  The Internet, as I'm
sure you know, was still in its infancy then, but I had an idea for something I
thought might work.  The first two years, I worked alone in my parent's garage,
borrowing money from them to live on.  I didn't make a dime from any of it
until 1995.  A year later, after we went public, I was worth over a hundred
million dollars.  Unfortunately, all of it was on paper, and working a hundred
hours a week (at least), I had no time to think of spending any of my newfound
wealth.  In early 1998, AOL (which had just bought Netscape) and Microsoft both
realized that my little invention was the key to a major leap forward in web
browsers, and they got into a bidding war for my company.  When the battle was
over, I was sitting on just over $500 million.  Most of it was Microsoft stock
(which has continued to increase in value), but I had a hefty pile of cash as
well.  
What I no longer had was a job.  All Microsoft wanted was the patent on my
software, and frankly, I had no real interest in working for Bill Gates anyway
(I actually met him once, which another, far less pleasant story).  So once all
the taxes were paid, and my investors and attorneys got their share, I simply
walked away--with more money than I ever thought to see in my life.
What can you do with a quarter of a billion dollars?  Quite a lot.  I traveled,
threw some parties, and wasted a lot of money on high-priced call girls.  But
one morning last year, as I lay in my bed on the eighteenth-floor of the Plaza
Hotel in New York and watched a pair of leggy blondes leaving the room with a
few thousand dollars of my fortune in their purses, I realized I wanted
something more.
It wasn't just a mistress.  I could have had those in spades, and indeed, more
than a few girls had been making not-so-subtle applications for the job lately.
 I didn't want a professional, and (this being the age-old dilemma of the
wealthy single man) I didn't want a girl whose main motivation was my money.
I let my mind drift, fantasizing about what might be most enjoyable.  I knew
from my experiences with all these call girls that one woman could not possibly
be enough.  So I would need a couple of them.  Several, maybe.  More than three
might be difficult to manage, but then it might also prevent any one of them
from trying to squeeze out the others.  Four or five, then?  That might work,
but no more than six.  Even that many would make intimacy difficult.  Because,
as I thought about it, I realized that I wanted more than a collection of
vaginas.  I wanted a collection of women with whom I could have real
relationships.
So what else, I thought.  It would be more fun if they were all bisexual.  I
had done enough romping with multiple hookers to know that much.  And I wanted
them fairly young, certainly not as old as I was.  No older than twenty-two or
twenty-three.
What did that leave me with?  Six sweet, open-minded, beautiful, bisexual women
between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three, who did not care about sharing
their man with four or five other girls and who could all live in the same
house without eventually scratching each other's eyes out.
I came uncomfortably back down to earth.  One girl like that I probably could
find.  Two?  Maybe.  But six of them?  No way in hell.
That was when I remembered that little theorem, which my friends in college had
often joked about when we went out drinking.  And a light came on in my head.
My specifications were obviously exacting.  Women like that were no doubt very,
very rare.  But surely a few of them existed?  And out of all the millions and
millions of women in the U.S. and Canada (and maybe Europe and Asia as well, if
I looked for English-speaking girls), could I not find just six who would be
attracted to an idea like this one?
For an ordinary twenty-five-year-old male, it was a pipe dream--but I might
actually have the resources to make it work.
And that was how it all started.
---
One.
I began brainstorming on my flight home the next day.  I didn't get very far
into my planning before realizing that even if I managed to put together this
harem (as I had already begun to think of it) I had nowhere to put it.
I still had in an apartment in San Jose (though I had spent very little time
there recently), but I was planning to move as soon as I could manage it.  I
had bought some land in Southern California a few months ago, and I was
preparing to build this palatial house overlooking the ocean in Orange County. 
I had yet to break ground on it because I was still working with the architects
about what I wanted.  A carbon-copy of Bill Gates's ultra-wired $50 million
house in Seattle was out of the question, but I was going to try to come close.
 I wanted a completely integrated network that would allow me to control the
entire house--security, entertainment, climate, lighting, and maintenance--from
my PDA, even if I was 15,000 miles away.  I had even ordered a custom-designed
DVD repository that would allow access to a library of thousands of movies and
software titles on demand.  Each room was going to have a seamlessly integrated
television/computer display terminal with full stereo surround sound.
But as I looked over the latest blueprints in my laptop, I realized that I
didn't have enough bedrooms to accommodate this new idea, let alone enough
bathrooms.  As I thought about it, I decided that if I was going to ask six
different women to move in with me, I ought to make them as comfortable as
possible.  That meant I needed six full-sized bedrooms, each with its own full
bath.  The architects were going to have a fit when I told them about this, but
at the hourly rate they were billing me, I figured they had no business
complaining.
After an hour on the Airphone, I had worked out the basic parameters for what
amounted to an entirely new wing of my house.  I would have three rooms
upstairs and three downstairs, all of them opening to a two-story atrium/den
that faced the ocean and the elaborate pool I had designed earlier.  The
architects grumbled and mumbled ("You realize this will add about $5 million to
the bottom line?") but went along with it.
---
When I got home, I began my preparations in earnest.  My first thought was some
sort of mass mailing.  For around a thousand bucks, I could get a list of about
90% of all the e-mail addresses in existence.  I could also, in less than an
hour of work, cross-post some sort of want ad to the entire Usenet.  But
spamming the world in that fashion would get me in far more trouble than it was
worth.  The few honest responses I might get would be buried under a mountain
of flames, complaints, and fake replies.  Then again, there was the issue of my
own privacy.  An affront to the Internet of that nature would assuredly have
some people trying to figure out who sent it, and I knew that no matter what
firewalls I tried to erect, someone would probably find out who I was. 
"Internet Millionaire Tries to Assemble Harem by Spamming the World" would make
for a very embarrassing headline.  I also realized that I wanted women who had
enough self-respect not to respond to such a blatant come-on.
 So my search had to be more focused and circumspect.  I thought that if I
could narrow it down to a list of a few hundred women, I could then hire a
private investigator to gather the necessary personal information on them.  But
to narrow it down--there was the rub.
I started out on America Online and the other major online services, browsing
profile after profile.  I knew that working in this fashion was eliminating a
large chunk of women who were not wired into the net, but I could think of no
other way to complete the search before I was too old to enjoy the fruits of
it.  
A search of "bisexual" (which seemed like the most restrictive parameter) on
America Online still pulled up over 10,000 matches.  As I browsed through them,
I soon realized that this was going to be very difficult.  The women who put
"bisexual" in their profile seemed, overwhelmingly, to be women looking for
other bi-females.  At least two-thirds of them had "**NO MEN**" or something
similar in them.  
As a programmer, I was used to spending weeks sifting through endless lines of
code.  Searching thousands of profiles would not be so different from what I
had been doing the last five years.    
But I kept coming back to a fundamental weakness in this idea.  Even if I found
a few women who might be attracted to my proposal, how were they going to react
to what was essentially a cold call, an e-mail out of the blue inviting them to
join my harem?  No matter how I turned it over in my head, I kept feeling that
I would do nothing but trigger defense mechanisms and make them think I was
some sort of nut.
What I had to do was bring them to me.  The direct approach just wasn't going
to work.
I gave up on the profiles and began browsing through the alt.personals
newsgroups.  There I found more reason for optimism.  Even discounting the
probable percentage of trolls, there seemed to be a fair number of women using
the newsgroups to make connections.  So after an hour or two of lurking, I
decided this was the place to start.
I spent the entire next day working on my ad.  The longer it was, and the more
details I could put into it, the more I thought it would appear serious and not
some sort of joke.  I described what I had in mind and the house I was building
for it, I listed specifically what I wanted (and what I did not want), and I
tried to make it clear that the selection process would be fairly long and
involved.  
This was what I finally came up with.
---
I am an unusual man with an unusual idea.  I am searching for one or more women
who wish to join my household as favored and pampered partners.  But this will
be far from an ordinary household.
I am independently wealthy, and I have committed several million dollars (yes,
you are reading that correctly) toward making my dream a reality.  I am
twenty-five years old, and I have recently sold an Internet company that I
started five years ago.  This has left me with a great deal of money (into nine
figures) and as much leisure time as I please.  I am hoping to find a few
unique women to join me.
I fully expect that very, VERY few women will be interested in what I have in
mind.  If you are already turned off by this post, please waste no more of your
time and move on to the next thread.  Otherwise, you may read on for the
specifics.
First, let me tell you what I am NOT looking for.  I do NOT want casual sex
partners or gold diggers.  I do NOT want professional mistresses or hookers
looking to escape the business.  Were that all I wished for, I could have it
very easily.  I expect that I could have it with a few dozen phone calls.  This
arrangement, as I envision it, will be about much more than sex.  
I am also not looking for slaves or submissives in need of a serious Master. 
Because I am hoping to bring several women into this arrangement, I cannot
commit to the time and energy that would be required to service a stable full
of slaves.  Recreational bondage and sex play is certainly possible, but a
full-time Dom/sub relationship is (probably) out of the question.
I am building a very large house in Southern California, where you would,
obviously, need to relocate.  You will have your own spacious room with its own
bath and a gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean.  The house will be fully wired
and networked, with entertainment systems and broadband Internet connections in
every bedroom.  You will have the use of your own car (though the title will
remain in my name) of whatever make and model you wish.  All living expenses
will be taken care of by me, and I expect that we will travel out of
California, and out of the country, several times a year.  You will, of course,
not be required to work, but should you wish to pursue any form of higher
education (there are several excellent universities within commuting distance
of the house), I will cover all your tuition and expenses.  You will be free to
come and go as you please.  I am not building a dungeon of sex slaves--I am
building a home for what I hope will be a large and happy family.
In addition, you will be the beneficiary of a trust I will set up, which will
vest after one year and increase in value as long as you remain with me. 
Should our relationship end for any reason once the trust has vested, whatever
money exists in it will be yours free and clear. 
The qualities of the partners that I have in mind are as follows.  I am
flexible with regard to most of this depending on what else may be involved.
--You should be between 18 and 23.
--You should be fit and physically attractive.  I do not expect you to look
like Cindy Crawford, but I am an attractive man myself, and I have fairly high
standards.  Please do not let this criterion stop you from responding,
however--I may find you attractive even if you do not think so yourself.
--You should be intelligent, articulate, open-minded, and easy to get along
with.  You will be sharing a household with several other women, and you should
be able to adapt well to such a situation.
--If you are bisexual or at least bi-curious, this is a bonus, but it is not a
prerequisite.
--You should be prepared for a long-term commitment.
The following requirements are NOT flexible:
--You must be clean, healthy, childless, and drug-free.  Out of an interest in
not bringing STDs in my house, I will require (and pay for) a full medical
examination.
--You must enter this arrangement openly and honestly.  Please understand that
to protect myself from possible fraud, I must conduct thorough background
checks on serious candidates.  
--I will require you to sign a perpetual confidentiality agreement in which you
will forfeit all monies in your trust account should you discuss any part of
our relationship with the media.  I will also require you to sign an agreement
in which you waive any claims for palimony or similar damages in exchange for
the money in your trust account.  Again, this is only to protect myself from
possible blackmail and to protect the family from disruption by members who
chose to leave.
You do not need to be a U.S. citizen or currently live in the United States.  I
will have my attorneys handle all necessary immigration and visa requirements
for you should it become necessary.  One strong warning is in order, however--I
will not tolerate anyone trying to exploit this arrangement to gain a U.S.
residency permit.  Any misconduct of that nature will result in your being
reported to the I.N.S.
I do not expect you to move into my house a week after we meet (the house will
not completed for several months in any case).  What I want are genuine
relationships, and I am prepared to commit the time to develop them--you will
not be required to make an immediate decision.  We will, obviously, meet and
get to know each other once contact is established.  I will pay for all travel
expenses (first class airfare and hotel accommodations) involved in arranging a
meeting.
I am, as I have said, looking for sincere, honest replies ONLY.  You should
tell me enough about yourself for me to get a good picture of who you are, and
if you feel comfortable in sending a photo, you may certainly do so (but please
do not feel obligated to; we will get to that point eventually). 
I will, of necessity, conduct checks on the addresses of those who respond, so
it may take a while for me to get back to you.  Responding through an
anonymizer is a sure way of ensuring that I will not respond to you.  I also
may not respond if my initial evaluation indicates to me that you are not a
suitable candidate.  Only serious inquiries will receive responses.
If you have gotten this far, I hope I have piqued your interest.  If I have,
please do NOT respond right away.  Give it some thought before you do, because
I want only serious, thoughtful partners.  When you are sure this is what you
want out of your life, I will be waiting for your reply.
---
Using the most secure anonymizer I had access to, I posted the message to the
half dozen newsgroups I thought were the most on-topic.  Then I shut off my
computer and went to a movie.
---
Two.
When I finally got up the guts to check the responses the next day, I found
exactly one reply.  One.  And it was from a guy offering to "help" with the
selection process.
So I posted it again.  A few hours later, I got the following response:
 Well Mr. Moneybags... all very interesting to say the least.  Bullshit I'm 
 sure, but one of the more interesting and creative posts I've seen as of 
 late.  If you've got the $$$ to blow, how about sending me a cashier's 
 check, in the amount of $100,000, made out to -cash- and delivered to a PO 
 box to fund my college tuition?  No huh?  Didn't think so... but hey, can ya 
 blame a girl for trying???  If you ever get a philanthropic moment in your 
 life and would like to benefit a truly ambitious and promising college 
 student, let me know...  If you ever get over your sophomoric infatuation 
 with buying a crew of fuck bunnies that is...
 At any rate, kudos on the post... you should find several thousand emails 
 most entertaining for a while... such a creative mind, wasted on the 
 pleasures of the flesh... tsk tsk...
 Take care... oh, and Good Luck!  LOL
I felt like writing back and telling her just how far I was from getting
"several thousand e-mails" but decided to let it go.  Obviously, this was going
to be even more difficult than I thought.
Unfortunately, almost all of the responses I got were useless.  Most were not
even sincere responses--they were either flames from offended women ("This is
the sickest thing I've ever heard of!  I hope someone throws you in jail!") or
men wanting in on the idea (one guy even offered to be my "houseboy"--I wasn't
sure I wanted to know what exactly he had in mind ).  Five responses expressed
interest, but after spending an hour checking the sources, I determined that
three of them were men.  
That left me with two possibilities.
The first was from a woman in Iowa.  Her letter sounded interesting, but the
photo she sent immediately turned me off.  She wasn't precisely unattractive,
but she simply wasn't my type--big hair and too much make-up, which made me
wonder what she looked like unadorned.
The second was something else, though.  It was from a woman in Florida, as soon
as I got into the second paragraph, I felt like this might be a genuine hit.
---
---
(end of that story, post continued in 2/2)
Michael
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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