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TheBowGirl

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  1. Millie stood alone at a poorly lit bus stop near the school she attended classes in. It was a late hour, most of the people who would be out and about right now were at home, comfy in their beds, or snuggled up to their loved ones watching netflix, with a few lucky ones doing other activities with their loved ones. Some were in clubs and bars, dancing or drinking the night into morning. Then there were the people like Millie, standing at a bus stop deep into the late hours of the night. Some of these standers were just waiting to get home from a long grinding day, others on their way to begin their day, and then their those like Millie. She had stayed late because one of her professors asked for help. She had not expected the project he needed help with was to see one of his best students naked, and then to stick his penis into her. Her curly red hair, the emerald green a-line dress, both showed some of the signs of her resistance. Her wool gray coat hid the rips to the dress, while also protecting her from the cold of the night. She didn't need to wait here, she was a gifted student, and could just as easily blink to her apartment, something she would of done any other night, but tonight, the young woman was afraid of a trace, or an intercept. She brushed one of her curls out of her face, which drew her attention to the crack in her glasses. She took the round glasses off, the silver frames were in good condition, which would make it hard to believe that they had been in her family for nearly 100 years. Her grandfather had worn them when he studied the hidden world of Japan, the first western magician to do so, with an invitation at least. The frames had absorbed some of the ghost magic of those regions, and had become valuable to Millie's family. The problem with them was that you needed to actually need glasses in order for them to work, which lead Millie to being a master of "life" as they liked to call the discipline, but was forced to keep the crappy eyes she was born with. The young woman popped the lens out of the frame, and held it up to the moon, then uttered a few short syllables, not words per say, but sounds that had been discovered the resonated with magical energies, and called forth the energies she then shaped with a few well practiced hand motions. The crack in the round lens was gone, and soon the glasses were all one piece, and returned to her freckled face, providing a thin glass barrier between her steel blue eyes and the world around her. The ghost sight, as her ancestor had called it, did not reveal ghosts as one might expect, instead it tapped into a realm in which the near future, present, and past, all blended, and with a skilled, and honed mind, someone who was always tapped into that realm could move forward and backward in brief snippets. That is what had saved her from her professor, he had successful fired his memory charm, but he had not accounted for the fact that Millie's mind, thanks to her glasses, was not completely in the present, but split between the present past and future. The charm was quickly broken, and Millie performed a simple gesture that send the professor flying into his own wall. Millie left before the professor got up from that. Which led her to standing here, in the cold, her feet dry only by the grace of knee high leather boots, and a ruined dress. What annoyed her most was that she had realized 10 minutes ago that their would be no more buses tonight, but she also realized that it didn't matter because she had no idea how to get from a back water town in Maine, to her home outside Boston with the public transit system anyways. That was the problem with magic, Millie decided. You get so used to the conveniences of it, that you forget how to function. She wished she could be like the blind, the normal people who never uttered their first chime, magic word, whatever you wanted to call it. She could've been one of those people, but she had to be born to a long line of magicians, ones that could point at legends and make a reasonable claim that that legend was about one of their ancestors. Nope, she didn't get to be a normal person. She never had a chance. With a sigh, Millie finally resigned herself to a quick blink. It was unlikely anyone was to follow her anyways, most magicians avoided shadow and phase magic at all costs. They were too new, and were not even a product of magical study, but a mistake made by blind scientists who had no idea what they were tapping into with their quantum physical studies. The Shadow in particular, a bad name for the practice of shifting gravitational forces in ways current science could not understand, to create spaces within spaces, was dangerous to most minds. It was Millie's ghost sight training that gave her the ability to maintain her sanity there. Of course, blinking was not shadow magic, just simple phase magic, a dimensional jaunt where she picked a point in another reality of this earth, one as close to the one she was in now, but her current location in that world would be her apartment, then it was like plucking a rubber band, pull the other reality into this one for just a moment, let it snap back, and then she just lets go before crosses over, and when things normalize, she is standing in her apartments living room. Sure sometimes she brings a gremlin, or a weird other-dimensional thing with her, but they rarely last more than a few minutes out of phase with their own reality. She took her coat off, and tossed it onto the couch in her living room, the lights detecting her movement and slowly turning themselves on. That was not a trick of magic, just simple technology. The same technology that turned her music on, turned her tea kettle on, and started reading the news headlines to her, all as she stripped her dress off, boots off, leggings off, and shook her hair out of its messy pony tail. In just a plain white bra, and equally plain white panties, she walked into her kitchen, her back marked with tattoos of a geometric shape, in which all the designs linked back to what looked like an Escher design tattooed into the small of her back. The tattoo itself was extremely colorful, and seemed to gradually shift, colors, shape, even position. In truth, it was always shifting because it was Millie's anchor into this reality, a complex magical structure she applied to herself allowing her to travel in and out of this reality, and not lose herself, nor lose the way back home. It was what got her into the school she currently attends. The Danford Academy of the Magical Sciences was one of the best places to study and perfect magic in the world. It was also one of the most dangerous places in the world, due to the whole learn by doing mentality the school took. This night was probably her last night there. Even though defending herself was justified, the spell she used was probably a mistake. If the professor even woke up from it, his mind would be schismed across multiple pocket dimensions that Millie had created on the fly. It wasn't that he didn't deserve that, but that the nature of the spell could of had serious repercussions, one of which being a collapse of reality in the area, or has physicists like to call it, a thermonuclear event. To be fair, Millie would be lucky if they just expelled her. The woman just poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle, and walked over to her glass kitchen table, her feet squishing into the thick, soft, wet carpet. Of course, her carpet was not supposed to be wet, but it still took her a moment to realize that something was off, and once she did, she realized her legs, and her panties were also wet. "Damn it, fucking bleedthrough," she muttered to herself, writing off the problem. In her mind, it was obvious, she flew to close to herself in another reality, and the two were bleeding through. Other reality Millie had just gone to the bathroom, and so this reality Millie peed her panties. Annoyed, Millie cast a small spell that wiped out the other Millie's bodily control, and than sealed her reality away, to prevent bleedthrough from continuing. *************************************** "Mills!," Christa shouted, seeing her red headed friend come out of the bathroom, then waved for Millie to come over to her. Christa was out hunting tonight, and the short hemline, and deep plunging neckline of her dress broadcasted that fact far and wide, although despite the blonde blue eyes, skinny body, and hooker dress, Christa was just striking out. Part of the problem was that the skinny body was not result of diet, but of intense exercise and personal fitness, and it turns out guys get turned off by girls with more visible muscle tone than they possess themselves. To Millie's credit, she was similarly built and toned, although she naturally carried her body fat in such away that she would never achieve those washboard abs, or perfect thighs, not without reducing the fat in her body into unhealthy extremes. "Any luck?" Millie said, plopping her purse on the table, pushing away the drink she had ordered before she left for the bathroom. She'd have to get another one now. "None at all," Christa replied, a little defeat in her eyes. "Maybe challenging them to an arm wrestling competition is the wrong approach?" she added, laughing at her own joke as she finished saying it. "Maybe tell them you are gymnast? That makes the guys jump after the girls in movies?" Millie said, a mirthful little smile on her freckled face. "By the time they figure out you are a champion Kung Fu master, it will be to late!" Christa gave her friend a sharp look, "Its Taakwondo, and you know that miss green belt." "Karata, kung fu... tomato tomato..." Millie continued on, still smiling, "I need to get a new drink Daniel-san, I will be right back." Millie grabbed her purse, and walked towards the bar before Christa could come up with a good comeback. Once Millie got the bar, she risked a glance back to Christa, who was staring daggers her direction. Millie just giggled, and told the bartender, "Sprite please, in a tumbler." "Trying to convince your friend you are drinking?" the bartender asked. "No, trying to convince these idiots," Millie responded, gesturing to the men in the bar, "That I am so that they will come hit on me and I can redirect them to my friend." "How is that working out for you?" the bartender said, filling the tumbler with sprite. "About as well as you would expect a sitcom set up to work in reality," Millie said, flashing the bartender a smile, and putting a ten dollar bill on the counter, before walking back to Christa, "Got a come back yet?" "Shut up," Christa said, then started to laugh, her blue eyes lighting up with mirth. Millie soon caved in and started laughing herself. "Ok, I am driving," Millie said, as Christa stumbled out of the bar, "Where are your keys?" Millie asked, as she searched through her friends purse. "Psh, you are as drunk as me," Christa said, "More drunk! I havn't pissed me pants yet!" she continued on, pointing to the growing puddle under Millie. Millie had felt herself start peeing, but she was far more concerned with something else that was happening in that moment, and she was very happy, and unhappy, that she had worn bicycle shorts under her dress. At least the mess was contained. She tried to stop it, pinch it off, but the more she tried, the more it seemed to push its way out, and when the smell finally hit Christa, Millie was already in tears. "Did you just..." Christa started to ask, and Millie just nodded. "It just... I don't know... I had nothing but sprite," Millie answered, now doing a waddle walk towards Christa's car, trying not to spread the mess around more. Christa sighed and tried to comfort her friend, "Maybe someone managed to slip something in your drink? There are a lot of weird fucks out there that would like to torture women? Did you ever lose track of one of your drinks?" Millie shook her head as they got to the Jeep that Christa drove around everywhere, despite complaining about its gas mileage, "Just the one from when I went to the bathroom, and I didn't touch that one." Christa shrugged, "Maybe just bad food then," then opened her side door, and pulled a towel out of the back of the jeep, tossing it to Millie, "Come on, put that down, and drive us home, we can get you cleaned up and some pepto, I am probably to drunk to remember this tomorrow, so shiny, right?" "You're not that drunk," Millie said, realizing that once she sits down, the mess is going to get a lot worse. "But thanks for the sentiment." Christa just nodded and climbed into the Jeep.
  2. Palm Springs, and San Francisco both have gatherings every year. I stopped going to the Palm Springs one when two guys dragged me to a couch while one held me down and the other tried to change my diaper. They didn't get very far before one of my friends freed me, but the venue said that they didn't care, and that if I didn't want my diaper changed, I should keep it dry... San Francisco event, happens twice a year, and it is a large Porn and Fetish con thing, with an ABDL section. That one though is VERY adult only, and actual age play is not exactly something they will even allow, due to press and media presence and a desire to avoid pedophilia accusations. Also, press and media are present, so if you like being anonymous, wear masks (A lot of people do) or don't show. I forget the name of it though, it has been four or five years since I went.
  3. Eh, it would be irresponsible of me not to address a concern about disturbing sites, or also to inform you to be aware of NAGPRA rules and regulations both in the finding, and selling of artifacts.. Also, don't buy artifacts, that just encourages grave robbing. I mean, what you are doing is probably fine and harmless, but it is very easy to cross a line and not even know it. (And NAGPRA has some hefty consequences.) Also, report your finds, check with your local museums, they will tell you where to report em.
  4. I wish I could take the some of the good jobs I have been offered. The problem I run into is I have a borked divorce settlement. My ex gets my daughter EVERY weekend, from 8:30 Friday night to 8:30 Sunday night, and I am required to pay transportation. The nearest University (I have a PhD in Cultural Anthropology and am an Archaeologist) is 40 minutes away before traffic, which would be reasonable, except they don't need me there as they do not offer an Archaeology course, and they have a glut of Cultural Anthropology professors already, most of whom were there when I was an undergrad at that school. (So hopefully some are nearing retirement?) I have a standing offer from Oxford (Mother pulled strings, I probably don't belong there :-p), which wont be there forever, and just had to pass on a USC invitation. England, I can not take because can you imagine the cost and organizational difficulty of putting my daughter on an international flight every Friday, and then picking her up? USC is better, but still several hours of driving every Friday and Sunday, so not realistic. The judge that screwed me retires in August, so maybe I can get a change of order than, especially since my daughter doesn't even want to go visit her father.. Until then though, I am trapped in this stupid town where these are literally my only job options. I am a substitute teacher during the week, I wait tables at a hotel on week nights, Claim Jumpers on weekends, and I make bows in the downtime.
  5. Not really. I would find occasional unused wrapped condom on a bed side table, but that was really it. The three groups that left the most out, during the 2016 campaign, I would find a lot of political signs and such left behind, mostly pro-Trump. There was even a guest that was giving us house keepers (Note: I am lily white, dirty blonde, and bluish gray eyes...) "deportation warnings" that proclaimed that once Trump was elected, we would be round up and shipped back to Mexico. The other guest type is the medical waste assholes, who would leave sharps, used diapers, or bloody bandages on the counters for us. (If you are ever told your room is not ready due to additional cleanup, you have one of these fuckers to thank as we have to bring in a hazardous waste professional.) Finally, you have the "kids" which is our code for people who came to have a party. Those rooms are normally off the list for a few days. So yeah, as a maid, I saw more diapers than handcuffs, whips, etc... and being part of the community, I was able to quickly tell need-only and enjoyment with possible need. Wish more people got this. Especially the "illegal" thing. So many times, I was either told to go back to where I came from (So... San Diego?) or asked: "Do you ever get mad that you don't understand what your coworkers are saying?" To which, I often times respond in Greek or Scots Gaelic just to piss them off, then pretend to not understand English the rest of their stay. Yeah I know, I wasn't helping my case, but you do the job long enough and you will fuck with bigots too. Then there is the crap the average American never even thinks about, like the dudes who leave notes for us, asking how much it would cost for us to come back and give them a blow job, or spread our legs for em. So many people view housekeepers as human trash. I had a PhD when I was working in hotels. I worked there because I got screwed in a divorce settlement and I am stuck living way to far from a university to teach and be able to raise my daughter, and afford the transportation cost to get her to her father every single weekend. People forget that housekeepers are people who are dealing with real shit. I don't think I am better than my co-workers because I have a crap ton of education, although a lot of my co-workers do occasionally think they are better than me, because they did not get an education and ended up in the same place as me. Sorry this is becoming a bit of a rant. I had a bad weekend, I work now as a waitress on weekends, substitute teacher during the day on week days, and most nights I am babysitting so people can go live lives, while I pay rent. Bow making does not do that, it is just a little extra (mostly used to pay for my girls hobbies and activities.) Then some dude in a MAGA hat decided he needed to lecture me why he wasn't going to give me a tip, because he thought it was extortion that he is expected to pay for his food then give me a tip for doing my job, and I quote, "That a retarded "n-word" could do while high." So yeah, people treat service workers like human trash all the time, and I am not going to try and make people feel better by saying most are good, the fact is, if they are not a regular, they are most likely going to treat me like trash. Most people who know they are not going to come back to that resturant leave messes, complain in order to try and get free food, will leave rude comments like, "I was going to tip you 20 dollars, but you are a little fat, so I only gave you 10 to help you diet." Or, "We left you our leftovers instead of a tip so that you could have better quality food then what you could afford." (I wait tables at a Claim Jumpers and a hotel restaurant. Such good food that costs 1/8th what they are paying for at Vons... and I can make it at home with less butter and salt and make it to seniorhood.) One of my favorite customers is a guy who I know hates tips, but he always tips 30% plus. He hates them because he is of the strange (hint: employ sarcasm filter here.) that employers should, gasp, pay their employees instead of shifting that cost burden to customers. See, I am willing to talk to him about why I shouldn't get a tip, because he fucking gets it. I should be paid to do my job, not depend on the generosity of customers to make my ends meet. Before some of you with no hospitality experience say anything, yeah, in California I get minimum wage plus tips, but what most people don't realize is that most chains/hotel restaurants employ an algorithm that assumes I am tipped 20% per table check. It doesn't verify that I was or wasn't. Then, it takes that total, divides by certain amounts to go to the bus boy, cooks, etc... Which is fine that they get a cut, even though the cooks are typically paid 16+ and there often is no bus boy on most of my shifts, but hey. The problem arises when fuckers don't tip me or tip below 20%... Let me show you why.... I make 14.30 (This is pretty high pay for a waitress in my area I want to point out, not average.) an hour waiting tables right now. An average shift for me is 8 hours on Saturday night. I will wait approx 4-8 tables an hour, so lets assume I had 6 tables an hour. So 48 tables. At Claim Jumpers, the average check comes out to about 60 dollars, and we will use that, assuming no large parties. So 60x48=2880. Now, 20 percent of that is: 576. Cool, I made a lot in tips right? Nope, first most people only tip 15, not 20. Next, about a third of tippers tip less than 10 dollars, regardless of the cost of the meal. In short, most Saturday nights, I make maybe 200-300 in tips. WHich is still cool... except... of the 576 listed before, the cooks each get a 10% cut. There are four cooks on Saturday night, and the bus boy gets 5% Then they take 15% for taxes... (Theortically I could get these back, but if you are being credited with 600 dollars a shift in tips on top of pay, what tax bracket do you think you end up in?) So 60% of my "tips" never even come to me. 60% of 576 is... 345.60 so assuming I had a good tip night and made 300 dollars.... I am 45.60 cents in the hole... now my take home pay is 14.30 x 8 which is 114 dollars per shift... minus 20% for taxes and such: 92 dollars... minus the 45 dollars... 47 dollars. Yep. Fucking tip your waitresses, because they are being screwed. Sorry end of rant.
  6. The woman returned to the living room, a simple dress draped over her arm, and a smile on her comforting face, "Alright sweetie, there is a shower down the hall, go ahead and get cleaned up." The old woman handed Chloe the dress, still smiling, and once the girl had taken the dress, the old woman had started towards the kitchen, "And don't take to long, I am making you a special breakfast." Chloe could just nod, still completely unsure if this was a continuation of her misery, or if something was beginning to turn around. The bathroom was not hard to find, and like much of the rest of the house, had a very high tech vibe. There was even an Echo in the corner. That brought a smile to Chloe's face, "Alexa, play songs by Jasmine Thompson." A moment later, the music started, and Chloe finally began to relax. The warm shower was pleasant, and she never quite understand how nice being clean really was. At least until this morning when she was truly dirty for the first time. The shower finally did have to come to an end though, and she slowly stepped out of the shower, into the cool air, and look at herself in the steam up mirror. She couldn't see details, but she could see her shape and just nodded. It looked like the mud was gone. At some point, the old woman must of slipped in, because her dress, and underthings were all gone, although a pair of panties and a bra had been added to the dress. It never really dawned on Chloe to consider why all of this stuff was in her size. She figured small is not the uncommon of a size for girls her age, and maybe this old woman had a grand daughter or something. Chloe just pulled on the clothings, and smiled as she saw herself in the floral print dress, in the now defogging mirror. She normally wore jeans and t-shirts, but she did always like the way she looked in dresses, especially ones like the one she was wearing now, which was tight around her torso, but the skirts and bust were a looser, helping shape her figure. Chloe took a deep breath, pulling her curly hair into a pony tail, and went back into the living room, hoping that she would be going home now. Instead the old woman was there, with a sweet smelling oatmeal, and a smile on her face. "Eat up sweetie," she said, patting a spot on the couch, and placing the oatmeal on the coffee table in front of the indicated seat. "By the way, my name is Martha," she added. Chloe smiled, "Chloe," she said off handed, "I kinda of just want to go home?" She continued. The whole situation was weird, and she was sure this woman was just trying to help her, but she just wanted to get home. "Its ok Deary," Martha said, "Eat up, and then we will be on our way." The woman smiled, and then vanished back into the kitchen with out waiting for a reply. "Ugh," Chloe said to herself, as she sat down on the couch. She didn't touch the oatmeal at first, but she was hungry, and it was obvious she was not going anywhere until she ate it, so she picked it up and started to eat it. It had the taste of oatmeal, but it was really sweet, not like the brown sugar or fruit sweet, but something else she couldn't identify. When the woman finally came back, she took the opportunity to find out, "What is in this?" "Oatmeal and treacle," Martha replied, "The way my mother made it when I had bad days when I was about your age," she continued, as she sat down in the chair across from her. "So, what are you going to do about those boys that I heard this morning?" Chloe looked surprised for a moment, first as she tried to figure out what treacle was, then at the mention of the boys. "I don't know ma'am... I mean if I tell, nothing is going to happen, it will be my word against theirs. They will probably just say I brought it on myself..." Martha frowned, then nodded, "You might be right, but what if I told you there was a way that it wouldn't matter if people believed their word or not?" She smiled slightly at the end of her question. "Before you say yes though, understand that what I am going to tell you to do always works, but not always in the way you think it will." "Okay?" Chloe said, unsure of what the old woman was meaning, although she really did want to hear. "I mean yes, I want to do it." Martha smiled and said, "Great, you have already taken the first step. That oatmeal has a little bit a magic in it, just enough for you to do one spell." Chloe looked stunned for a moment, but Martha continued, "I can teach you to do more if you still want to after this." She paused a serious look on her face, "I need you to understand girl, there is no going back on this. Once you cast this spell, it can not be undone, even if you don't like how it comes out." Chloe didn't believe Martha, but at the same time, why not just humor her. It would probably get her home sooner. "Alright, lets cast this spell..." "Excellent," Martha responded, and then placed a bowl of clear liquid on the table. Chloe had no idea where that bowl came from, which for a moment made her think that this was real. "Dip your fingers in the bowl, one for each boy you want to curse, then say there names three times. This will connect there threads to yours, then say aloud what you want to happen." Chloe placed four fingers into the bowl, and said, "James, Ryan, Carlos, and Geoff" then repeated those names two more times. On the third time, the clear liquid was silvery, and she could see all four of them laughing in the truck. "I want them to be shamed by the whole school for what they did to me, and I want the school to treat me special, like they did last night before these guys ruined it." With that, the liquid in the bowl was gone. "Oh no," Chloe suddenly blurted out as she bolted up, a wet spot on the couch and pee pouring down her legs. "Oh god no, I can't stop it." Martha nodded, "The magic always works in weird ways," she said, getting up from her chair, a diaper and a new dress on the couch. "Come on, lets get you clean again, and then home..."
  7. It wasn't raining. No, that would require the weather to commit to something. Instead it was just misty, everything got wet, but there was no obvious source of the moisture. It was just there. Which is why Chloe was huddled under a tree, hugging herself for every ounce of warmth she could, her beautiful prom dress, curly brown hair, fair, freckled skin, covered in mud from where she had slipped. Her blue eyes were closed, tears running down her cheeks, seeming to find the only channel with no freckles to run down. Hints of pink flashed from under the mud on her dress, the corseted bodice was probably the only thing keeping the eighteen year old girl out of the fetal position. In the distance, the laughter and hoots of some boys could be heard, and it wouldn't be wrong to conclude that they bore some responsibility in Chloe's current problem. Their voices were getting further away though, not that it helped Chloe at all. She had no idea where she was, how to get back. At least the sun was finally coming up, although that just seemed to add to the gloom instead of remove some of the chill. The night had gone to well, of course it had to end like this. Despite her pretty appearance, idolized teen body, she didn't play the cutsy flirting game the boys expected, and often times dressed to hide her form instead of emphasize it. It resulted in her not going on dates, or getting asked to dances, but she was okay with that. At least until her senior year. She decided to run for prom queen. Not that she expected to win or anything, more that she just wanted to show people that she could walk alongside those girls. Subtle changes to her wardrobe, and a little less pushing people away, and before she knew it, she was in the top three. Then at the dance, she actually was voted queen. It wasn't some prank or anything, she actually won. Before the results were announced, she was without a date, and sitting at a table with her friends. After the announcement, she couldn't get anywhere without people being around her. This eventually led to her drink getting spiked, and then she found herself in the back of a pick up truck. Once it had stopped, she jumped out, and started to run, then slipped in some mud, rolled down a hill, and landed in a small pond of just barely not freezing water. And now, here she was, leaning against a tree crying. It was this state that an old woman found Chloe in. The old woman walked up to the young girl, a comforting smile on her old and wizened face. Long grey hair, weathered by the years, was tied into a simple chignon style, and fading blue eyes carefully looked the crying girl up and down. "Come child," the old woman said, "Let me help you home?" Chloe looked up from her bubble of despair, and showed more fear on her face than relief. She could not imagine something good happening right now, and did not see anyway to trust anyone else. She did see that she did not have a lot of choices at the moment though. "Okay...." she meekly answered as she tried to get up to her feet. She had been running all night, and the fatigue was setting in, but she was not willing to show that in front of this old woman. It just wasn't her way to show weakness, and she had already been witnesses crying. Despite the pain and tightness, she got to her feet and said, "I live over on Albamere st... if you could give me a ride?" "Albemere? In Franklinburg? That is an hour away sweetie, let me take you to my place, get you some warm food, and clothes, then I will take you home," she said, hooking her arm with Chloe's, and starting to walk into the woods, with an 'I wont take no as answer' gait. Chloe allowed the old women to lead her, it seemed to be the only solution open to her, other then calling out for the boys still looking for her. Soon, she was lead to an old two story home, one of those old neighborhoods where you could see your neighbors house, but it is an effort to get to it still. An old yellow mini-van sat in the driveway of the house Chloe was being lead to, and despite expectations, this was not some old creepy house, but a nice looking house, with obvious modern amenities like satellite TV, and solar panels. There was even a "Ring" at the front door. Inside the house, it looked like it came out of one of those showcase homes at new housing developments. Everything was clean, the latest and biggest flat screen TV adorned a wall. The kitchen looked like it could cook a whole meal on its own. This was not what Chloe was expecting when she was offered help by this crone. Maybe it is her kids place, Chloe thought to herself, as she looked around at the various pictures and nick-nacks in the living room. Whoever this woman was, it did look like her and her family had led an exciting life. (More is coming, just ran out of time tonight!)
  8. If it was my old group, during our breaks, we would often try and one up eachother on the weird thing we say that day, and a guy with non-medical diapers on the counter would get called anywhere from the strange dude to freak depending on what the "one up score" was at the time. As far as tipping goes, we will probably add that, "But damn does the wierdo tip well" The chance of it coming up depends on how slow the day is. I will be honest, the diaper stuff when it did show up (Once or twice a month) was always the weirdest thing of its day. I don't mean like depends or such, but like Bambinos or stuff. Those were always rough on me because I knew what they were, but I had to act surprised that people could get adult sized baby style diapers to cover myself, who normally was going to slip into one of those after my shift ended and I got home.
  9. I would just put them in a drawer or non-see through bag on the counter... but that would be more about not giving the housekeepers gossip and "that guy" stories. There is nothing really wrong with what you pictured and we would just clean around it, then talk about it in the breakroom.
  10. Diapers are more common then people realize, especially in places like Palm Springs, where I worked for a while. We have a lot of elderly guests, and that comes with those issues. The best way to help the staff is to not make us touch diapers. We are literally not allowed to handle human waste or blood. Some housekeepers do because we just have to much work to waste time waiting for peeps with the hazardous materials stuff to get up there, or often times as was my case, I was the hazardous materials trained person on my shift and was constantly having to stop what I was doing because a mother left used baby diapers on the counter instead of in the bin. Just put them in the bin, and if you want to be super nice, there is normally a second bag in the trash cans on the bottom. Get that one out, put your diapers in it, and then tie it off when done, that way you can still use your bathroom bin for other trash. Also, there is almost always a laundry bag that pretty much never gets used, feel free to grab those and stick the used diapers in that, and then tie it off and place it next to a trash can. Please label those trash so that we don't open it making sure you didn't leave it behind by accident, filled with clothes. If you leak on the bed, tell someone, call the desk and ask the manager. Front desk staff are typically the least discreet. That way they make sure the housekeeper that takes care of your room comes prepared.
  11. Oh we say stuff, and it is very obvious the difference between need and enjoyment, and it is not hard to figure out. Most people do not really think about the fact the housekeeping are people and will see the shit you leave around and will judge you. We would decompress making jokes about the guests, specifically the more bizarre stuff. You are completely right, we don't talk about what people fantasize about. Around 2007, there was a guest in the hotel I worked out. He wet the bed, and got the carpet wet as well. He left his diapers, unrolled on the floor. The first time I came up to his door, he was in the room, and I explained to him that housekeeping doesn't do anything in the room while the guest is there. He threw a fit, but my manager backed me up. So he left the room, and stood in the hallway watching me. He was obviously wearing a diaper. I took two steps into that room, and called my manager up. The manager told the guest that I was not to clean the room, that they would call the cleaning service and charge him. He freaked out and said that it was my job to take care of him, and that he would be suing us for discrimination because he had a real disability. He was tossed out the next day when he was asking one of the waitresses at the restaurant to feed him. This shit is not ok, and it happens. Especially in hotels around San Francisco, Palm Springs, and I am sure other places where they have a reputation of hosting weird sex shit. When we see these things, we are merciless in the back rooms, and these more extreme assholes taint the smaller violators, for example the OP would be connected to the guy above if he stayed at my hotel. So just remember that.
  12. I strongly disagree with you, but this board is not the place for political theory discussion, and I would appreciate it if you did not try and push your theory on me. Thanks.
  13. I mean, would you leave underwear hanging for them to be found? People don't need to be included in your kink without consent. When I travel, I tend to bag and trash my own night time diapers. I don't leave them in the bathroom trash bin, or the trash bin in the main room. Hotel staff get shit on by asshole guests who think paying for a room makes the hotel staff their personal servants, that I have no desire to make their day harder or weirder. This is coming from a woman who worked hotel hospitality throughout her entire college career. Be nice to your hotel staff, their life is hell, don't make it worse.
  14. These are the rules I follow and taught my daughter: 1.) Stay clothed during video chats, picture shares etc. Once a topless video or photo is out there, you have no control over it anymore. 2.) Video chat only with people who you've met in real life, and have frequent contact with. 3.) Never say or do anything on a video chat that you are not comfortable with people hearing or seeing. You never know who is in the room off camera, you never know if the person you are talking to is recording, etc... It is a fucked up world where blame is to often shifted to victims, especially non-cis males, so protect yourself, because the laws and society are not doing a good job of it right now.
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