(New 4/20/19) THE STRANGER (M/M) - Trouble at State

[Xtc]

Enjoying your creative style.
Can't help grinning at the "hidden" socio-political point!

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[GoBucks]

Interesting to see how this is going. Only thing I didn't like was the inclusion of the detail about the OSU student being kidnapped and murdered. I know that that is true because that was my school. I just feel like it's not something that belongs on here because it was something horrible that truly just happened. It seems a little disrespectful considering this is a fetish site and murder shouldn't be glorified. I know that probably wasn't your intent and that you're just trying to make your story more realistic, but that's how I took it.

[Deleted User 3263]

[LK3869]

Still liking this half writen/half visual experiment.

Flirting with reality has its downsides, as [mention]GoBucks[/mention] legitimatly noted (hope you two will confront your views in PMs, since your both from the same area and that resonates differently with you...) crimes do happen, although such evil masterminds as the Stranger exist only in fiction.
Real serial offenders are less exotic and never so much 'in control', and when they do they take great care of staying invisible AND un-noticed. Silence of the lambs created a new mythology here: Red dragon and the guy skinning girls are somewhat realistic but Hannibal Lecter is a basic psychology nonsense.

All that to explain why this story stays within limits IMO, because it's obvious exageration and strays from reality. But yeah, [mention]boygagged[/mention] cautious with that my friend; it'd be a shame to spoil an innovative effort.

So impatient to see this wannabe reporter get in trouble looking for his Pulitzer Snoopy, smartass, pretty boy rescuing the pretty boys in perils, there's a potential 'redemption' here, should you ever need one

[Deleted User 3263]

[LK3869]

Hey, that one is the summum in your 'every little details count' style

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

You are receiving this document because you have requested periodic updates from TRUE TREMONT TIMES. To unsubscribe, please click HERE.


THE TERROR YEARS: ON THE TRAIL OF THE BOY HUNTERS
A Special Report (In Progress) by Dylan Tremont


Okay, Scooby gang, first thing’s first.
A big old disclaimer…

Please do not share what you read here with the police.

After my recent run-in with the authorities (and considerable mistrust of their abilities to actually mete-out justice), it’s probably best we keep this between ourselves for now.

Sound like a plan?
Okay then, love you, mean it…

Dylan



++++++++++


More disclaimers:

These are random notes for now.
Loose ideas. Discoveries. Reflections. Assumptions. Fears.
Part of my process.
Keep it streamlined at first.
Helps to get closer to seeing connections.
Closer to the truth.


++++++++++


Spring of 2006.
College soccer player Austin Baker is stalked, terrorized and lured into a dark green sedan with the promise of interviewing for a professional soccer “headhunter.”
He is presumed kidnapped.
Detailed descriptions of his cruel capture and tie-up conditions are released.
Video of his torture is circulated to taunt his teammates with their helplessness.
(One personal abduction = the abduction of sense of safety from others.)
After about a month, all communication stops.
It is implied that silence is bought, arranged for. (Proof? Evidence?)
Other than an abandoned webpage seeking clues to his disappearance…
…Austin Baker is forgotten for 12 years.


Baker is Victim Number One — the first of “The Forgotten Boys.”
There will be at least 20 others…maybe more?

The first abduction is in the Spring of 2006. More will follow.

The unusually high number of missing student incidents stop sometime around 2009.


Three years of terror.


Starts in Denver, CO — spreads to other points around the nation.
Not isolated by location.
Not simple crimes of convenience.
They are meticulous, ordered, planned — with sadistic follow-up.
A few abductions happen on the same day and time (usually at dusk or after nightfall).
Too expansive and elaborate to be the work of just one kidnapper.
A duo or team???
A network of abductors?????
What are the connections???????



Commonalities in Victims:


Male college students, mainly white, between the ages of 18-23

Good-looking (“pretty boys”), good-natured, well-liked

No history of alcohol or drug abuse; No history of erratic behavior or unexplained absences

Tend to be gifted athletes or academic stand-outs

Reports of feeling stalked, terrorized leading up to nabbing

A recurring icon: the skull and lettering (a “t”…a “b”?)

Their “Missing” posters doctored or defiled

Loved ones taunted with photos, personal effects, videos

Attempts to locate the students dwindle or terminate about a month after disappearances



The Mystery of the Forgotten Boys.
Why were they targeted? What is the purpose of their capture?
Were they taken to become the personal property of their abductors?
Were they intended to be sold as sex slaves? (If so, to whom?)
Were they taken to be tortured and killed? (If so, where are the bodies?)


Is the failed abduction attempt of Ryan Mott and the seemingly successful abduction of Patrick Penner the start of a new wave of “pretty boy” kidnappings?


Will 2019 be the first in a new round of Terror Years?


++++++++++


THE FIRST THREE



Victim #1 — AUSTIN BAKER




(Use previous notes)




Victim #2 — JESSE WRIGHT





Name: Jesse Levi Wright
Age: 18
Date of Disappearance: April 13, 2006
From: Regis University, Denver, CO

Background/Details: Education major at a more conservative (i.e. non-partying) college.
He was considered likable and very smart.
Graduated high school at 16.
Had difficulties with upperclassmen (due to his youth and natural precociousness?).
Bullied.

Stalking: Not clear if the sexually explicit threats were part of the bullying, but they intensified and lasted appx 3 months.
Jesse’s “Missing” webpage (now missing itself) indicates he received an avalanche of lurid and threatening notes from an unnamed voyeur.
His personal property was defaced.
(Second mention of the skull icon.)
Mr. Lier is not referenced with this case.
Campus security was supposedly contacted about the threats.
A Senior student (name not known) was found with incriminating evidence in his possession (threatening notes and Wright’s vandalized property) and was expelled from the university. (Set up?)

The Nabbing: A clear Monday night in April before end-of-school term.
Two girls who knew Jesse from a shared calculus class saw a commotion in the parking lot and witnessed his bound and gagged body being lifted into the back of a van by a masked assailant.
A security officer on duty that night discounts the testimony, saying a groundskeeper was clearing bundled brush from the lawns. He wore a face mask to cut-down on pollen intake.
A week after his disappearance, Jesse’s high school yearbook was found on campus. It had been plastered with polaroid images of a terrified-looking Jesse tied up and gagged in a variety of straining, tortuous positions.

Forgotten: Webpage deactivated
School records? (will check — calls were not initially returned)
No mention of disappearance in papers or online search


One comment on Jesse’s webpage remembered him this way:

“Jesse has disappeared from the world. He was here, then he was gone,
and he never came back. But he will always be with us inside. Until we
finally know what happened to him.”

There was an anonymous response to the comment:

“I know what happened to Jesse. He will never be with you.
He belongs to me now. That’s all you ever need to know.”


end of entry



Victim #3 — BENJAMIN DOLAND



Note: Most of what we know about Ben Doland comes from a scanned “Missing” poster and a series of exchanges on a Skaters chat room archived by one of the original administrators.

Name: Benjamin David Doland
Age: 20 (appx.)
Date of Disappearance: May 3, 2006
From: University of Kansas (unofficial), Lawrence, KS

Background/Details: I’m not certain about Ben’s family. Searches didn’t turn up any info. Still pushing on that one.
Benjamin was auditing classes at KU, but his main focus was on skateboarding.
He probably drew the attention of his attacker while on his occasional campus appearances, though most of his time was spent at Lawrence’s Centennial Park.
He was training to be a competitive boarder.
He was brash, a bit cocky, but straight-forward and honest.
He had many friends in the chat group.

Stalking: Not much is known about Ben’s stalking.
His board was broken a week before his disappearance.
The larger pieces had been covered with (can you guess it?) skull icons.
He had a few choice words to write about the vandalism in the chat room…
He mentions “an associate of Mr. Lier” interested in sponsoring him for competition.
None of the skaters knew who that person was and encouraged Ben to be cautious.
Ben was excited that the associate promised to reimburse him for the new board he had scrambled to find the money to buy.

The Nabbing: He was breaking-in the new board late one night at the skate park.
Friends left him earlier in the evening.
The next morning, they found his board — wrapped in hundreds of feet of rope, black duct tape, one end “gagged” with an athletic sock the skaters swear belonged to Ben (it smelled like Ben’s stinky feet).
Skull icons were graffitied all over the half pipe ramps.
No mention is made of what Ben’s friends did with his new board.

Forgotten: Missing posters put up, torn down, ripped to shreds.
No webpage.
No online, newspaper, or college records.
No police report (surprise!).

Benjamin David Doland is the very definition of a Forgotten Boy.


end of entry


[More Victim reports to come]


++++++++++


…AND FINALLY…
ABOUT THE CONSTANT “MR. LIER”


While not a seeming participant in the abductions of The Forgotten Boys — other than the kidnapping of Austin Baker where he appears to be sole perpetrator — Mr. Lier is mentioned in most every occurrence. His name even appears on a defaced “Missing” poster where he is referred to as “Teacher.”


Who is “Mr. Lier”?
A man who leads by example? A charismatic figure? A self-styled prophet?
A Charles Manson-type? A David Koresh?
What does he represent to the boy hunters?
What sway does he hold over them?
Is this the same man who took Alex Hayes?
Did he take Patrick Penner, too?


And what is the derivation of that name, “Mr. Lier”? (Surely a made-up moniker.)
What does “Lier” represent in this context?
The French word “to bind”?
A play on “liar”? (A purveyor of falsehoods?)
Or does it simply mean one who lies in wait — like a snake in the woodpile — biding his time — until the innocent mouse happens by, is suddenly taken by surprise, and finds itself being slowly devoured?


Note to self: Must learn more about the illusive “Mr. Lier”…

[Deleted User 3263]

Are you as amazed as me at the things Dylan is digging up about The Forgotten Boys? I couldn't help but share these screen captures and his research with you. Send me a PM if you're following along and if you have theories about the cases. The rest of the press and, of course, the police have been pretty quiet about the recent turn of events. What do you all think? boygagged

[Gagfan]

I think it is only a matter of time before nosy Dylan ends up getting bundled up nice and tight, maybe hell end up getting even worse than the others got

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

[Deleted User 3263]

Kid Reporter — In Too Deep (Pt. 1)
by Dylan Tremont


The window into Room 133 is dark. No lamps burning inside.
That means the informant was right that the room’s occupant would be gone until 9.
There’s money riding on the outcome of a game, and the corner bar has a hi-def screen.
If you’re gonna lose, might as well lose big and blown up to 75 inches.

So the target will be away until 9 PM.
That gives me thirty minutes to go through his stuff.

You're probably wondering who I am…
…about to break-in and toss some creepy stranger’s room at the Lazy-E motel…
The name’s Dylan Tremont.
You haven’t heard of me. Not yet.
But with any luck, you’ll soon be reading about me in the papers.
Well, reading my byline, anyway.

See, there’s a ring of kidnappers snatching up teenagers from wealthy Denver families.
They keep the kids tied until they can sell them back to Mom and Pop.
The kids return with a few eye-popping stories but not roughed-up too badly.
The nappers run a lucrative racket.
Of course, the cops don’t have the first clue how to shut them down.
Or even where to find them.
But I followed my nose, and it led me to this seedy no-tell motel
(apologies to fans of the Lazy-E everywhere)…

The guy rented the room under the alias “Mr. Black.”
I know he’s one of the kidnappers — maybe even the head napper himself.
See, I’m a Kid Reporter, just into my twenties, with a decent face, better body.
Everyone looks past my credentials and goes right to my age and looks.
But after this story blows wide, I’m gonna be known as the guy who single-handedly brought down a kidnapping ring — instead of that guy who always gets mistaken for a JC Penney male model wannabe.

I parked my beat-up Honda down the block and kept to the shadows hoofing it over.
I'm wearing my usual getup when I cover the beat:
Grey Kenneth Cole slacks, blue-grey vest, dark blue tie, sky-blue dress shirt, brown Oxfords.
It’s cold, so I threw a black Burberry jacket on top.
My cellphone, warming one of the pockets, is freshly charged and ready to record.
Oh, and I have on my trademark dark-rimmed glasses, per always.

I stroll by the front office. The hyper college kid and the old lady with the hangdog expression are working the night shift. I pretend to be searching for a cellphone signal, all the while running a latex-gloved hand along the inside rim of a cement planter, home to about a dozen dead pansy plants and discarded cigarette butts. Huh. My informant said he’d hide a copy of the guy’s key card somewhere in this — Got it! I pretend to give up on the signal and head down the walkway toward Room 133.

I pull on the other glove and check my cellphone. The digital clock turns over to 8:35. My heartbeat quickens. Once I slide the key card, there’s no going back. I hold my breath and do it. The access light switches from red to green. I push the door open.

I quickly slip in and let the door close silently behind me.
The room is pitch black. My eyes adjust to the dark.
The room smells of stale smoke and too much air freshener used to cover it up.
There are two beds, shared nightstand, desk with a wooden chair, ancient TV set, small mirrored clothes closet, vanity room at the other end with another mirror, door to a commode.
The place is still and empty.
I turn down the brightness on my cellphone flashlight, start recording, and go to work.

Over at the desk, I rummage for clues.
Empty Wendy’s burger wrappers, some toll booth receipts, a couple copies of today's Denver Post — for proof of life ransom shots, I figure.
Nothing corroborating.

I carefully step into the bathroom.
The moldy shower curtain is drawn closed.
I reach, hesitate, and slide it open.
Water stains ring the drain.
The shower head drips dumbly.
Empty.

Back in the main room, I head over to the closet.
It’s just big enough to stash a body.
A terrible thought crosses my mind. He could have a kid tied up in there!
I quickly open the mirrored door.
A couple of dark shirts and a worn jacket hang from a pole.
I’m met with a musty smell wafting off the guy’s clothes…
…uggh, and a more odious smell from the soiled socks he’s tossed at the base of the closet.

I look around the room.
There has to be proof somewhere in this…

There’s movement at the door.
I shoot a look to the clock on the nightstand.
8:40.
He’s not supposed to be back yet!

I quickly assess my options and fold myself into the closet, pulling the door shut as best I can.
The smell of the socks is nearly overpowering, but I endure it.
As the door closes and I power down my flashlight, I remember I left the chair pulled out in front of the desk.
Nothing I can do about that now…

He activates the lock and enters the room.
The dead bolt flips and the security chain is engaged.
A light comes on, glowing through the crack between door and closet.
I pull out my phone and start filming as I spy through the opening.

Mr. Black drops a duffel bag at the end of the bed.
He strips free of his jacket and drapes it over the bag.
Mr. Black is tall, blonde, muscular.
He’s wearing a black tank top which calls attention to his defined chest and arms.
There is power in those arms.

He moves out of eyeline.
I hear the desk chair push back into place.
The bathroom door closes.
Water runs in the sink.

I think to myself: this is my chance.
I creep out of the clothes closet, managing a few careful steps toward the door before I hear the water in the bathroom shut off.
I fumble at the lock.
He’s suddenly behind me.

“Who the fuck are you?”
“I…I guess the kid at the desk gave me the wrong key. This isn’t my room.”
“No shit.” He looks over at the open closet. “Were you...hiding?”
“Sorry…I must be the next room over.”

I turn the knob, crack the door, and he slams it closed with a powerful hand.

“Why the gloves?”

Shit, I still have on the nitrile gloves for the fingerprints. He snatches my phone.

“Are you recording this?!?”

I stammer as he shuts down the video and swipes through my screens. He holds on my home screen and name.

“Why are you here…Dylan Tremont?”

I peel off the gloves and shove them in my jacket. Cover blown. Nothing left to lose.

“Mr. Black…if that’s even your real name….I’m from the Star Daily. I wanted to speak to you about your involvement with the kidnapped teens…”

Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.
I detect a quick flash of fear cross his eyes.
He grabs my wrist and pulls me into him, snaking a thick arm around my torso and clamping a hand tightly over my mouth.

The knock comes again…followed by a male voice on the other side of the door.

“Uhm, front desk, Mr. Black. Mr. Black?”

I squirm and try to call out behind the thick hand.
He increases his pressure and shushes low and threateningly into my ear.
He answers back.

“What do you want?”
“Oh, I forgot to ask when you checked in. Would you like extra towels?”
“Nah, I’ve got everything I need now.”
“Okay, uhm. Have a good night, sir.”

He gives the front desk clerk enough time to walk back toward the office before flinging me onto one of the beds.
He turns the bolt and chains the door.

“Take off your jacket.”
My heart beats in my throat.
“Mr Black, if we could talk about the case…”
He pulls a gun tucked between his waistband and the small of his back.
He levels the barrel.
“Take off the fucking jacket.”

I go silent and wriggle out of the jacket, letting it fall to the bed top.

“And the tie.”
“Mr. Black, I just have a few questions…”
He steps forward and presses the barrel against my temple.
My Adam’s apple throbs.
I unknot the tie and pull it from my collar. It gathers on the bed.
His other hand goes around my throat. Squeezes slightly.
Then his fingers pop the top three buttons on my shirt.
He stretches his hand to open the shirt wider.
He glides his fingers across the upper part of my smooth chest.
He gestures with the gun.
“In the chair.”

I pull out the desk chair and sit heavily.

“Hands behind.”

I do as he says, wrapping my arms around the chair back.
He grabs the duffel bag and drops it closer on the floor.
Unzips it.
It’s full of coils of rope and other items I can’t make out.
My heart explodes at the sight of the clothesline.

“You can turn yourself in, Mr, Black. You confess, they’ll go easier. You don’t have to do this…”
He quiets me by pushing the gun barrel deep into my mouth.
I gasp, breathing-in sharply.
“You want me to do this?”
I shake my head with conviction.
“Then keep fucking quiet.”

He selects a coil of rope from the bag, puts my hands palm-to-palm, and begins to tie my wrists.
“You thought you’d get a big scoop, huh, kid? Thought you’d break the story wide open?”
The ropes pull tight and pinch my skin.
“That’s too tight…” I mutter quietly.
“Too fucking bad. You didn't expect to end up like this, did you?”
“Mr. Black, please, if we could…”
He slaps the back of my head.
“No talking!”
I can feel him cinch and tie off my wrists to the bottom rung of the chair.
He returns to the duffel bag for more supplies.
He loops rope around my upper shoulders, laces the strands through the sides of the chair back and knots off.
He pushes my legs apart and begins to tie my ankles to the front chair legs.

“What…what are you going to do to me?” I ask after a few tense moments.
“Just like a good reporter — always asking the important questions.”
“Are you going to hold me for ransom?”
“You think your paper would pay to get you back??? Don’t fool yourself. They’ll replace you at the drop of a hat. But, I’ll give you this much. You're pretty. That's got value. It’s already doing something for me just looking at you tied like this.”

He cups my groin, and I try to squirm away. He can tell it’s doing something to me, too. This makes him smile.

He finishes wrapping my ankles and ties the excess rope to the underside of the chair.
He drapes my tie across my lap and opens the closet.
He grabs the soiled socks.

“I backed a loser team and tried to drown my troubles with cheap beer. I need to sleep off this headache. Open up.”
“What? Why?”
“So you don’t wake me up.”
“No…no, please, those are disgusting…don’t put them in mmmmmmpphhhhf —”
He begins to stuff the rancid socks in my mouth. And I thought they only smelled bad. The taste is like nothing I've ever experienced. Salty and tart and bitter and thick. It’s kind of how you imagine licking the underside of a public toilet seat would be like.
“You reporters spout filth every chance you get,” he says, packing the putrid cloth deeper into my mouth. “It’s time you got a taste of it for yourself.”
When he finishes packing in the socks, he takes my tie and pulls it between my teeth, wrapping it around my head twice before tying it off tightly behind my head.
I try to cry out in protest, but I only emit muffled, frustrated “mmmmppppffs” behind my gag.

He watches me struggle and moan, and it makes him smile again.

“You’re even hotter moaning like that. But a reporter needs a proper gag. Old school.”

He digs in his bag and pulls out a long white cloth. He folds it in half and tightly wraps it over the tie and sock gag and cinches it with a knot in back.

“That looks better. Don't you think? Oh, right, you can’t see. Your generation…always need visual stimulation 24-7.”

Mr. Black closes the closet door and drags me in front of the mirror. I fix on my own image.
He leans in close, strokes my hair, and kisses my cheek.

“Here’s our Kid Reporter. All bound and gagged and helpless at the hands of a sadistic, horny kidnapper. What perils await our intrepid truth sleuth? I’ll dream a couple for us, while you compose a few of your own. We’ll call this story: “Kid Reporter — In Too Deep.”

He falls into bed and is almost immediately asleep. I begin to hear him snore.

I don't move. I stare for several long minutes at my reflection in the glass. Tied hand and foot, lashed to the chair, triple gagged silent. The image is hypnotic, transforming, deeply erotic. I fear I might explode right then and there.

I start to squirm and wriggle and pull at the ropes.

Then I feel some give in the line holding my wrists to the bottom rung.

Yes! The hero reporter always escapes.

I get busy working to free myself…



...to be continued...

[MaxRoper]

That pesky Dylan, out looking for trouble and of course he found it. Trussed up in front of a mirror, scared, horny and right on the edge. Just the way I like 'em.

This is turning into quite a complex tale. Don't make us wait too long.