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Auction Lesson #4: Sex Dungeons

I had to find out how. And to take many, many showers.The third auction I attended was a smaller one I found on Craigslist, and consequently sparsely attended. Only myself and one other hunter arrived, Ed, who'd I seen hate me at other auctions. I gave him a friendly nod. He ignored me a little less hatefully than before. So: some progress. We stood standing on the threshold of the only storage unit up for bids. "What's that in the back?" I asked, standing up on tip toes. Ed, who had been looking around warily the whole time, craned his neck to look. "Dunno," he said, biting his lip. "Oh shit!" he added, as we both heard footsteps behind us. Before I could see who was coming, I was shoved to the floor of the locker, Ed stumbling to the ground beside me. The shutter doors slammed down, sending us in to darkness. "Ahh dammit." Ed's voice somewhere beside me in the blackness. His face lit up as he illuminated it with his cell phone. "No reception." "What? What's happening?" I asked, my voice a little more cartoonish than I would have liked. "Fucking Craigslist," Ed said. He bit his lip. "It's another damned sex trap." "A what?" "A sex dungeon." "You say that like it's a thing. It cannot be a thing. Please tell me this isn't a thing." "Relax newb. You're an auction hunter now. Gotta roll with the big boys." "This has happened to you before?" "I'd say about one time in ten these auctions turn out to be sex dungeons, yeah." Ed shrugged. "Lotta lonely dudes operate these storage facilities." "And how long have you been doing this?" "About 20 years." "And you hit what, one-two of these auctions each week?" "About that." I did the math. "You've chosen a career where you're getting raped 5-10 times a year in corrugated steel buildings?" "I guess when you put it that way it sounds like a lot." "I could put it a lot of ways and it would sound like a lot." I stood up and tried to move towards the door, stumbling over something. "Calm down. I'd suggest you just try and enjoy it. You need to roll with life's little ups and downs a little, newb." "You mean you just let them sex dungeon you? This is one hell of a down to roll with." I found the door and began searching it, looking for a release or something. Behind me I could hear Ed banging around, the dim light from his cell phone casting eerie shadows. "Found em," he said. "You found what?" I asked, turning around. Something black and strappy came flying through the air and hit me in the face. I caught it before it could reach the floor. "What is this?" "Ball gag. Put it on." "Ed, do you think you might be giving in to this a little too easily?" "Mmmmmeghghmph."

The problem is not that I don't know where it's been. The problem is that I do know where it's been.

On the other side of the door, I could hear footsteps. "I hope you guys er ready!" A click, and the door rumbled upwards, a spreading sea of light silhouetting our sex-captor. "Bam! Mouth-Punch!" I said, doing just that as I ran past the villain. He fell to the ground, and I stopped a few yards away. It felt a bit too easy. Although I've often told people that I have "the eyes of a Van Damme" I can't say the same for my arms or chest or any other parts of me. How did I escape from this sex dungeon so easily? "Ow! That really hurt!" my prospective rapist said from the ground, rubbing his jaw. He was the owner of the storage complex, a sweaty man, with the name Daryl stenciled across the breast of his shirt. "Then I did it right." "I don't understand," Daryl said, looking hurt. "I tried to explain things to him," Ed said, emerging from the locker, his ball gag hanging around his neck. He shook his head. "Fucking newbs." "Get the hell out of here you fucking newb," Daryl said, standing up. "It's all money, money, money with you, isn't it, never sex, no, its never dirty clutching sex. We got no need for your ivory-tower sorts 'round these here storage facilities." "How about the police? You got need for the police round here?" Daryl looked worried. "You wouldn't." He was right, I wouldn't. I went through a bit of a crying wolf spell a few years earlier, claiming outlandish crimes were occurring and seeing what happened. Regicide, that kind of thing. Now I need my parents permission to call the police. Wordlessly, I left the strange storage folk, letting them stew in fear for awhile, before they got around to stewing in other, worse things.