soulless_npc
ángeles y demonios
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- Jan 24, 2023
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When I moved into my new apartment I was introduced to my neighbors, Paul and Tamika. Tamika was nice in a fake sort of way, but deep down she had a kind of motherly instinct and would give me hugs. Paul wasn't as nice, drove a Civic, and owned guns, but he had to keep up that act to keep women around him. He had a wife, a teenage daughter, and a baby, but would often bring over different girls to gangbang.
Tamika had a guy in a sort of on-and-off again relationship and sometimes I would hear them get in arguments. Paul on the other hand lived upstairs and I could often hear them getting it on all hours of the day and night. I distinctly remember how cold, mirthless and soulless the women in his presence were, a sort of lifeless paleness in their eyes, almost as if he was Satan and surrounding him were his Satanettes worshipping his enormous cock.
One day I was talking to Paul on the steps outside the building and he quietly alerted me that there was a girl across the street checking me out. Sure enough, there was a Becky standing on the stoop, her body leaned up against the door jam, staring in my direction. She was brunette, about 5'5", in denim shorts and a halter top. I kept talking to Paul though, pretending to be engaged in the conversation because that was all my brain would allow me to do. After a few minutes I heard the door shut. She had disappeared.
Then I met Gene. Gene lived down the street and was a 40? 50? something year NEET man who lived in the basement of his family home, who had won a settlement of some kind and could NEET off it for the rest of their lives. One of the first times I met Gene he was smoking a crack pipe outside the building. He was lively, animated, and fast talking. He kept asking me where the girls were at. I of course didn't know where the girls were at, so I couldn't give him an answer on that.
He could tell I was lonely, so I went and hung out in his basement man cave. He would give me pep talks on success with women, about how I just needed to make the first move, even if it meant being inebriated or under the influence to have the nerves to do it. After this pep talk, he asked to borrow my phone. Hesitantly, I agreed. He took my phone and from a distance I could see orange black and white letters on the screen - he was on the Hub. "Cmon and look at this!" he said, and pulled up a porn video of Uncle Fucking Stepdaughter porn. "Ohhh yeah, that's it" he grunted to himself. I made some sort of acknowledgement, even though this wasn't really my thing.
"What's wrong?" he said, sensing my lack of enthusiasm. "Men like sex and men like porn. Are you gay?" I assured him I wasn't, even though I suppose hanging out with this weirdo was sort of gay. Eventually, he was done watching porn and he and I went back upstairs and outside. He gave me one final pep talk about pussy, this PUA extraordinaire. "If you don't get it, it's because you don't want it" he proclaimed, and took another rip of crack. I said goodnight, and went back up the street to my place.
Some time later, it was about 9 PM in the evening on a chilly spring night and I was getting ready for bed. Suddenly from outside I heard a door open and shut. I went to the window, and peered through the crack in the blinds. I could see on the stairs across the street, the same girl I had seen earlier, this time wearing a hoodie. She glanced quickly both ways down the street and pulled out a bowl, lit it, and took a few hits, before looking upward in the direction of my window.
Somehow, deep down, in my heart of hearts, I sensed that she was looking right at me, right into my very soul. My brain told me to exit the room and go to her, but my body refused. I just stayed there, watching her every move, admiring the curvature of her body illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights. After a few minutes, and what felt like hours, she disappeared.
This would continue on for some weeks, I would check my window at a certain time each night and I would see this same strange girl standing there, always looking right at me. Sometimes I would even go outside and smoke at the same time, trying to inch myself closer toward working up the nerve to introduce myself. Gene had also informed me that she was the only one in the apartment, so I knew I wouldn't have immediate competition. But still I remained at a distance, unable to bridge the gap that existed between us.
It would turn out I missed my chance, because very shortly thereafter, she would get roommates. One of them was another slightly hotter and sluttier Stacy who always hung out on the steps on her phone. She had a boyfriend, some tall yet heavy dude with low tier looks. They would hang out outside and smoke weed during the day, and sometimes I would see her driving around or going to the house next door.
Come nightfall however, their house transformed into a realm of degeneracy and hedonism. One night I was at the window again, but instead of Becky on the steps, I saw the window blinds open and the interior of the house. It was lit with candles and dim lighting, and I could see the outlines of nude bodies writhing and contorting themselves, asses shaking, and erect cock silhouetted. My adrenaline raced and I was in shock, stuck, frozen, unable to move. They were having orgies! My god why have you forsaken me? I was shaking and went outside to smoke and calm myself, and as if by magic, thunder clapped and lightning flashed and the sky opened up and I sat outside on an overturned garbage bin in the rain contemplating my life.
A few days later I saw Gene again and he told me that Becky had already gotten a boyfriend, which obviously, was an understatement. "You blew it!" he yelled at me. I was pissed off at the world and at myself, so I didn't feel like talking. I LDAR'd and hated myself some more.
I rang Paul's doorbell and within a few minutes I could hear his feet coming down the steps. I heard him undo the deadbolt and open the door. "What's up? What's going on?" he yelled, and in his right hand he was holding a pistol. "Are you ...are you going to shoot me?" I gulped. "Nooooooo" he laughed, "you're good man". Obviously he had thought it was going to be someone else. He put the gun back, went downstairs and outside with me and we talked while he got stoned.
"You just gotta shoot your shot man!" he said to me. "As far as the people across the street, they are not your friends. Hell Tamika isn't your friend, be careful what you tell that bitch." I recalled some of my conversations with Tamika, in which I had revealed some of my ND tendencies. It turns out this was a fatal mistake.
Tamika, as it turns out, was also friends with Becky. I was officially introduced to Becky for the first time when she was walking her dog one morning. I stumbled down the steps and offered my hand. "Hi I'm Becky, I live across the street!" she said, and shook my hand. I reached down and petted the dog. "Good job!" she said, in a manner as with which one would talk to a child or an adult with special needs. I could tell just by the way she talked to me that Tamika had somehow, sometime told her something about me and my struggles with depression and anxiety, and I had been outed as being a weirdo. I felt shame and humiliation and made myself invisible again.
I never talked to her again, but I would see plenty of her and Stacy for the rest of the summer. Sometimes Stacy was with the fat guy, sometimes she was with a skinnier guy, sometimes it seemed like there were 25 people in the house at once on the weekend. One thing was for certain, they were having a better time than I was.
So I tried to come up with ways to cope. I started running 7 miles a day in the hot summer heat until I could do it twice a day, and my legs became beautiful, and my olive skin transformed into a beautiful tan and I had vascularity in my arms. "This will show THEM" i thought to myself, and I told myself that I was better looking, but I was operating under the false pretends that I was actually good looking, and the pretense that simply being good looking enough was enough to get girls to come to me, that they would fall in my lap. But nothing fell in my lap but more disappointment. I tried selling weed to Gene and he gave me a fake hundred dollar bill, terminating our friendship. Paul just got more icy over time, and Tamika had already betrayed my trust.
Summer came and went and new neighbors moved into the house next door to the house across the street. They seemed like the frat bro party type, and I'd see them talking to Becky and Stacy, sometimes together, sometimes one on one. Sometimes they would have orgies at their house instead of Becky and Stacy's. I guess it depended who had the better drugs and alcohol.
One year after moving in I moved out of my apartment, and I never saw any of these people again. The memories remain though, etched into my mind as cruel reminders of stagnation and inaction, and the value of courage, and also the value of not being so trusting in this god awful world. Still though I would do anything to have the life I was living then over the life I am living now, in a big city full of people and possibilities, and untapped potential, and dreams one simply has to be bold enough to dream.
Tamika had a guy in a sort of on-and-off again relationship and sometimes I would hear them get in arguments. Paul on the other hand lived upstairs and I could often hear them getting it on all hours of the day and night. I distinctly remember how cold, mirthless and soulless the women in his presence were, a sort of lifeless paleness in their eyes, almost as if he was Satan and surrounding him were his Satanettes worshipping his enormous cock.
One day I was talking to Paul on the steps outside the building and he quietly alerted me that there was a girl across the street checking me out. Sure enough, there was a Becky standing on the stoop, her body leaned up against the door jam, staring in my direction. She was brunette, about 5'5", in denim shorts and a halter top. I kept talking to Paul though, pretending to be engaged in the conversation because that was all my brain would allow me to do. After a few minutes I heard the door shut. She had disappeared.
Then I met Gene. Gene lived down the street and was a 40? 50? something year NEET man who lived in the basement of his family home, who had won a settlement of some kind and could NEET off it for the rest of their lives. One of the first times I met Gene he was smoking a crack pipe outside the building. He was lively, animated, and fast talking. He kept asking me where the girls were at. I of course didn't know where the girls were at, so I couldn't give him an answer on that.
He could tell I was lonely, so I went and hung out in his basement man cave. He would give me pep talks on success with women, about how I just needed to make the first move, even if it meant being inebriated or under the influence to have the nerves to do it. After this pep talk, he asked to borrow my phone. Hesitantly, I agreed. He took my phone and from a distance I could see orange black and white letters on the screen - he was on the Hub. "Cmon and look at this!" he said, and pulled up a porn video of Uncle Fucking Stepdaughter porn. "Ohhh yeah, that's it" he grunted to himself. I made some sort of acknowledgement, even though this wasn't really my thing.
"What's wrong?" he said, sensing my lack of enthusiasm. "Men like sex and men like porn. Are you gay?" I assured him I wasn't, even though I suppose hanging out with this weirdo was sort of gay. Eventually, he was done watching porn and he and I went back upstairs and outside. He gave me one final pep talk about pussy, this PUA extraordinaire. "If you don't get it, it's because you don't want it" he proclaimed, and took another rip of crack. I said goodnight, and went back up the street to my place.
Some time later, it was about 9 PM in the evening on a chilly spring night and I was getting ready for bed. Suddenly from outside I heard a door open and shut. I went to the window, and peered through the crack in the blinds. I could see on the stairs across the street, the same girl I had seen earlier, this time wearing a hoodie. She glanced quickly both ways down the street and pulled out a bowl, lit it, and took a few hits, before looking upward in the direction of my window.
Somehow, deep down, in my heart of hearts, I sensed that she was looking right at me, right into my very soul. My brain told me to exit the room and go to her, but my body refused. I just stayed there, watching her every move, admiring the curvature of her body illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights. After a few minutes, and what felt like hours, she disappeared.
This would continue on for some weeks, I would check my window at a certain time each night and I would see this same strange girl standing there, always looking right at me. Sometimes I would even go outside and smoke at the same time, trying to inch myself closer toward working up the nerve to introduce myself. Gene had also informed me that she was the only one in the apartment, so I knew I wouldn't have immediate competition. But still I remained at a distance, unable to bridge the gap that existed between us.
It would turn out I missed my chance, because very shortly thereafter, she would get roommates. One of them was another slightly hotter and sluttier Stacy who always hung out on the steps on her phone. She had a boyfriend, some tall yet heavy dude with low tier looks. They would hang out outside and smoke weed during the day, and sometimes I would see her driving around or going to the house next door.
Come nightfall however, their house transformed into a realm of degeneracy and hedonism. One night I was at the window again, but instead of Becky on the steps, I saw the window blinds open and the interior of the house. It was lit with candles and dim lighting, and I could see the outlines of nude bodies writhing and contorting themselves, asses shaking, and erect cock silhouetted. My adrenaline raced and I was in shock, stuck, frozen, unable to move. They were having orgies! My god why have you forsaken me? I was shaking and went outside to smoke and calm myself, and as if by magic, thunder clapped and lightning flashed and the sky opened up and I sat outside on an overturned garbage bin in the rain contemplating my life.
A few days later I saw Gene again and he told me that Becky had already gotten a boyfriend, which obviously, was an understatement. "You blew it!" he yelled at me. I was pissed off at the world and at myself, so I didn't feel like talking. I LDAR'd and hated myself some more.
I rang Paul's doorbell and within a few minutes I could hear his feet coming down the steps. I heard him undo the deadbolt and open the door. "What's up? What's going on?" he yelled, and in his right hand he was holding a pistol. "Are you ...are you going to shoot me?" I gulped. "Nooooooo" he laughed, "you're good man". Obviously he had thought it was going to be someone else. He put the gun back, went downstairs and outside with me and we talked while he got stoned.
"You just gotta shoot your shot man!" he said to me. "As far as the people across the street, they are not your friends. Hell Tamika isn't your friend, be careful what you tell that bitch." I recalled some of my conversations with Tamika, in which I had revealed some of my ND tendencies. It turns out this was a fatal mistake.
Tamika, as it turns out, was also friends with Becky. I was officially introduced to Becky for the first time when she was walking her dog one morning. I stumbled down the steps and offered my hand. "Hi I'm Becky, I live across the street!" she said, and shook my hand. I reached down and petted the dog. "Good job!" she said, in a manner as with which one would talk to a child or an adult with special needs. I could tell just by the way she talked to me that Tamika had somehow, sometime told her something about me and my struggles with depression and anxiety, and I had been outed as being a weirdo. I felt shame and humiliation and made myself invisible again.
I never talked to her again, but I would see plenty of her and Stacy for the rest of the summer. Sometimes Stacy was with the fat guy, sometimes she was with a skinnier guy, sometimes it seemed like there were 25 people in the house at once on the weekend. One thing was for certain, they were having a better time than I was.
So I tried to come up with ways to cope. I started running 7 miles a day in the hot summer heat until I could do it twice a day, and my legs became beautiful, and my olive skin transformed into a beautiful tan and I had vascularity in my arms. "This will show THEM" i thought to myself, and I told myself that I was better looking, but I was operating under the false pretends that I was actually good looking, and the pretense that simply being good looking enough was enough to get girls to come to me, that they would fall in my lap. But nothing fell in my lap but more disappointment. I tried selling weed to Gene and he gave me a fake hundred dollar bill, terminating our friendship. Paul just got more icy over time, and Tamika had already betrayed my trust.
Summer came and went and new neighbors moved into the house next door to the house across the street. They seemed like the frat bro party type, and I'd see them talking to Becky and Stacy, sometimes together, sometimes one on one. Sometimes they would have orgies at their house instead of Becky and Stacy's. I guess it depended who had the better drugs and alcohol.
One year after moving in I moved out of my apartment, and I never saw any of these people again. The memories remain though, etched into my mind as cruel reminders of stagnation and inaction, and the value of courage, and also the value of not being so trusting in this god awful world. Still though I would do anything to have the life I was living then over the life I am living now, in a big city full of people and possibilities, and untapped potential, and dreams one simply has to be bold enough to dream.
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