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I have written a lot of ridiculous shit about my experiences as a security guard, and by-and-large I’ve just put it out there no matter how messed up it was. However. I am going to preface this one out of respect for my reader. This is a story about Taylor. I’m talking about fucking goddamn Taylor now, and you need to understand that before you start reading.
Unfortunately, no one can be told what Taylor is. You have to read it for yourself. This is your last chance. After this, there is no going back. You can leave the website and the story ends. You wake in your bed and you believe whatever you want to believe.
If you click on the story, you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.
Remember that all I am offering is the truth. Nothing more.
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For as little as he talked, somehow the greatest body of knowledge gathered on Taylor was about his sex life. Well, after seeing his girlfriend I don’t know if I’d call that “living”, but I suppose one only eats the fish they can catch. In this case, as near as I could figure it some sort of bottom dweller scraped out of a dragnet useful for nothing more than being ground into a paste to make cat food or having its decapitated head placed in someone’s bed as a warning from Vito Corleone to cast Fontane in an upcoming film.
Somehow this topic of conversation arose when Michael and I were doing our rounds. I’d never seen someone physically shudder before, and to be honest I always thought it was a figure of speech. I can assure you this is not true.
Michael: I don’t really want to get into it, but of all the fucked up people in this museum Taylor is well off the charts. Well off it. Did you see his girlfriend when she came in last week? It was like Sarah Jessica Parker and The Penguin from Batman Returns had a baby.
Me: Oh god, it can’t be that…
Michael: And then ran her through a dryer filled with rocks.
Me: Oh come on, dude.
Michael: After a chimp attack.
Me: Well, at least you aren’t the one who has to screw her.
Michael: Fuck…screwing is the least of it. You don’t even want to know about some of the shit I’ve heard they do to each other.
Me: Well I do now, asshole. Spit it out.
Michael: Uuugggkhh…(shudder). Just give me a minute here.
Michael proceeded to list off a collection of sex acts that, frankly, I still have a hard time believing people actually do. I’m not talking about porn stars and shit like that, I’m talking about people who get up to go work at the newspaper at eight in the morning, and have to stand in front of that bathroom mirror and decide if they can stomach going out of the house after what they were involved in for fear that somehow everyone is going to know just by looking at them. I could do this in dialogue form, but it would be a waste of keystrokes. Michael and I went behind the mammoth skeleton in case any visitors came by, and he still whispered because he was afraid if someone heard they would think it was him. Apparently, Taylor and his “girl”friend were involved in the following:
—69 salad tossing.
—Pissing on each other’s faces.
—Pissing in each other’s mouths.
—Pissing in his girlfriend while they were having sex.
—Shitting themselves during sex.
—Shitting on one of their bellies and then slopping through missionary sex.
(I’m actually really uncomfortable with the fact that people will know these things are even in my head.)
—Cumming in his girlfriend’s mouth and then making out.
—Cumming in her butt and then eating it out.
—Pissing in his girlfriend’s butt during anal sex. (I mean hey, if you’re already pissing in her…)
—Calling the dog onto the bed during sex, apparently just to hang out.
—Rubber banding his balls like a soon-to-be-castrated goat and pulling his junk behind his legs with a cord attached to his neck.
—Female-dominant strap-on anal. (Realize that when you read that one this list is so goddamn ridiculous that this one sounds tame.)
—Putting his limp dick in things like wine bottles that were excruciatingly tight when he got hard.
—Putting things in his urethra and then trying to piss/force them out again while she jerked him off.
Now this one I’m not sure even I could dream up if I happened to pick these words out of a dictionary at random, but I was assured by both Michael and one of the older guards whose testimony was unimpeachable that they heard these actual words come out of Taylor’s mouth:
—Anal double-ending vegetables…
Apparently we’re not talking about asparagus here, but shit like corn and cardoons. I don’t even know if I can physiologically believe that anyway, not because I think it’s physically impossible, because I don’t think my brain will allow itself to form the neural connections required to hook that sex act to the part of my brain that decides what reality is.
Those are some of the worst, but rest assured that everything lower on the totem pole of freakdom and S&M was definitely in the mix, plus I’m sure a lot of other variations like putting things in his urethra and then trying to piss it into her when they were fucking. I mean, I guess Michael didn’t say it, but if you’re shitting between someone’s shoulder blades it’s a bit stupid to think they’d throw a fit if you put some in their hair. I know there were some others, but I either can’t remember because I shut off like a dog at the vet or I just don’t want to. What I can say is that I walked away from that conversation thinking that list had to be it. I could imagine other stuff, but nothing worse that didn’t involve physically harming each other beyond the number of infections they had to be getting treated for on a weekly basis.
I have to be honest and admit I never heard Taylor say any of those things to me personally, but what I did hear him say one day at the desk obliterated any and all skepticism as to their veracity. In other words, if the horrific thing you just heard is true, then there’s no thinkable reason to doubt the rest of it.
There's also a further point to be made about the truthfulness of all this. Male braggadocio results in all kinds of lies about sexual conquest. Chad, for example, claimed he had no interview for his job. He just fucked the girl in HR. Whether this miracle occurred after his fourth or fifth Quizno’s double-meat double-cheese no vegetables gigantic sub from Quizno’s I have no idea. Chad made up a lot of stories like this, and deep down I think he knew we didn’t believe him because it was obvious how much he enjoyed making them ridiculous beyond belief. No, and for the record, I don’t think you picked up a Ferrari model at a car show and had anal sex with her. For starters, you already said you were there with your kids…
The crucial difference between Chad and Taylor is that no rational, thinking human being would make up a story about the kind of fucked up shit Taylor did in order to impress his buddies. In fact, those are the kinds of things you would never say to another living soul for fear that the old guys at the museum who had been hit in the face with a pile of their buddy’s intestines in Vietnam would be too shocked and disgusted to ever talk to you again.
Chad: Yeah, I totally fucked a Ferrari girl. I was doing her from behind, and when I put it in her ass she looked back with that one fisheye that said “do it”.
Taylor: Last night my girlfriend shit on my chest and then she spread it all over me with her tits. It was OK. I was pretty into it.
You see the difference? Chad actually tried that one on me, and Michael definitely heard Taylor say something approximately along those lines. One of those two is an abject liar, and the other one is, without a single shadow of a doubt, telling the god’s honest truth.
So one day Taylor and I are the only ones at the desk on a really sleepy morning, and I’m thinking to myself “Alright. I’ve heard the legends. It can’t possibly be that bad. Let’s just play this little game and see where it goes.”
Me: Yeah, my girlfriend’s in Italy for two weeks doing a hiking tour. Looks like I get to keep an eye on her apartment and jerk off while she’s drinking wine in paradise.
Taylor: He, he.
Me: Yep. Lucky me, huh?
Taylor: Are you going to jerk off in her place?
Me: Uh, I think not.
Taylor: Yeah. I usually jerk off in the shower.
Me: Oh yeah?
Taylor: I like to put my finger in my ass. You do that?
Me: Can’t say that I have.
Taylor: I have to lean up against the wall though.
Me: I’m sure that’s awkward…
Taylor: Yeah.
Me: So does your girlfriend let you do anal?
Taylor: Yeah. We do that.
Me: ...
Taylor: You?
Me: Nah, we’ve never tried it.
Taylor: I like it.
Me: Heh…are you a member of the Red Wang Club?
*Pause*
This is a reference to having sex while your girlfriend is on her period. Given what I’d been told, I assumed this was just warming up the conversation to get to the ridiculous stuff I thought everyone was exaggerating the hell out of. This assumption clarified exactly the process by which these things came to light.)
*Un-pause*
Taylor: What?
Me: You know, the Red Wang Club.
Taylor: Oh yeah. I tried it once. I didn’t like the taste.
Me: Wha...?
Taylor: …
Me: …
Taylor: …
Me: …
Taylor: …
Me: …
Taylor: …
Me: …
Me: What do you mean, “the taste”?
Taylor: I don’t know, I just didn’t like it.
Me: I’m not…This is the Red Wang Club you're talking about, right?
Taylor: Yeah, the Red Wings Club.
Me: I said Red Wang.” Not “wings”. It's when you have sex when your girlfriend is on her period.
Taylor: Oh.
Me: Did I miss something and we're talking about hockey? What is the Red Wings Club?
Taylor: You know, you get the red wings.
Me: Where, on your balls?
Taylor: No, it's ‘cause you get the red wings on the sides of your lips.
Me: Bwah???
Taylor: When you go down on her. I was OK. I didn’t like the taste.
Me: …
Taylor: …
Me: …bwah…?
Taylor: We do other stuff when she’s on her period.
That's when I fucking shut it down. As far as I was concerned it was a question of ethics and civic responsibility. Yes, we can detonate a thermonuclear weapon over ISIS, but that doesn't mean we should. Similarly, there is much more to know about Taylor, but there are stones in this world that we as a society should not kick over just because they are there. Knowledge is an extremely powerful thing, and if I kept digging for my own sick, selfish curiosity, it was entirely possible that a previously un-thought thing could enter into the public sphere. People could get seriously hurt, or even die from the brain trauma caused by knowing it.
I know that I have intentionally locked away information that could potentially cure cancer, but it's just not worth the risk. I think—I know I did the right thing by walking away.