Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

Stepping out of the Uber, you let the hot, humid air breeze across your face for the first time. Pulling out your french dictionary, you hoped that someone in Marseille would be able to speak your language, but you weren’t holding your breath. It was your first time outside of your home, outside of your little bubble of cultural comfort, and it was exciting. You had a few goals for this little excursion: one, embrace yourself in the gay culture. Two, find a summer boyfriend. Three, have your beach body ready. That third goal, however was a little delayed. But sitting there, letting the hot sun and the cool ocean air, the sounds of crashing waves, honking horns, music and chattering… You knew immediately you’d be in town for a while. The issue was finding a local guide to help him navigate this brave new culture. After all, you were far out of your element. Pulling out your phone, you start to google local hostels to crash at for the night until you catch someone peering at you from dow

All Gary could remember is walking through the front door, and then boom: instant pain and then nothing. Now, he groggily groaned as he slowly came to. The young, wealthy investment banker felt a throbbing bump on the back of his head, but discovered quite quickly his hands were bound at the wrist, the rope tightly twisting and wrapping around his wrists like handcuffs. Trying to push through the pain, he desperately tried to scream, but the bandana gagging him prevented much of his voice from being more than just a muffled whisper. Panic started to set in, just as the spinning room began to slow and come into focus. He was slumped across the foot of his bed, struggling to sit up on his own, bare ass naked. “Yeah, that’s a good one.” A foreign voice rang in his ears like bomb blasts in a cave. “Gotta post that shit.” Finally sitting upright on the edge of his bed, he could see the origin of the voice. Sitting on HIS vanity chair, taking selfies with HIS phone was the masked burglar him

You left the club exhausted. The music was hot, the people were hot, your girlfriend was… very drunk. It was the first time in MONTHS that you got to go out, and you were so excited to finally just let loose at a live concert again. Not that Christi was particularly into the idea. To be honest, listening to her complain and slur and talk shit about her “friends” had been nagging on your shoulder for some time now. If you were being real with yourself, you’d admit your feelings for her had diminished quite a bit. If you were keeping it truly real, you’d admit that you were tired of no sex for the past eight months. You were tired of her getting pissed when she caught you beating one out on a Saturday afternoon. You were tired of having to work, cook, clean, and silently agree with her every whim. In short, you were whipped and you were… well, exhausted. You turned and did your best to let the bouncer deal with her drunken ramblings about you, as Uber began to load up on your phone. Plea

  “Clint, you’re fucking two days behind schedule. You promised me the place would done at the end of the month. There’s seven days until that happens. One week, Clint. I’m not paying you to sit around and sweat all over my new floors. You and Devon need to pick up the pace.” In the typical, whiny, over the top bitchy voice that had become characteristic of Robert, he smugly stared down at the contractor, confident he’d made his point. The property developer and notorious slumlord had gotten slapped with fine after fine from the city after some journalist had done an expose in the paper two months prior. The city had made it clear: fix the houses up, or they will be condemned. In the end, it mattered not- he simply evicted the low income tenants and once the reno was done, he could charge whatever he wanted for the luxury apartment. Perhaps even an AirBnB. But it would all be for nothing if Clint and his partner didn’t get the place finished by the deadline. Thus, after the ass reaming