Alternate Narrator

I fucking despised Harlow. I mean, seriously, who the fuck names themselves Harlow? It's a stupid-ass name for a stupid-ass guy. And let me tell you, there was not a single thing about him that I found even remotely appealing. The dude was a goddamn smug prick, strutting around like he owned the damn place.

I used to watch him from my apartment window, coming home from work all high and mighty. Selling ****, getting fucked up, and who the hell knows what else he was into. I even caught my girlfriend at the time sneaking into his place once. Yeah, you can imagine how that went down.

But here's the thing, I thought I was rid of that asshole. I moved the fuck away, far away from that shithole of a neighborhood. And I was pretty damn sure that Harlow's then-girlfriend Brin had finally come to her senses and dumped his sorry ass.

So you can imagine my surprise, or rather, my raging fucking annoyance, when one day, out of the blue, that fucking Harlow showed up at my doorstep.

I squinted at him, trying to figure out if this was some sick joke or if I was just losing my goddamn mind. "Harlow?" I spat out his name like it tasted like shit.

"Good to see you, man," he said with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Is it?" I scoffed, eyeing him suspiciously. I glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see a camera crew waiting to burst out and yell, "Gotcha, dumbass!"

But no, all I saw was Harlow, standing there like a fucking idiot. He handed me a bag, and I reluctantly took it from him.

"What's this?" I asked, my irritation growing with each passing second.

"Open it," he said, that smugness still lingering in his voice. I reluctantly pulled the bag open, revealing a pile of lacy panties, sexy bras, and all kinds of fucking provocative clothing. My face flushed red, a mix of embarrassment and confusion washing over me. How the fuck did he even know about my secret stash of kinky shit?

"Put them on," he commanded, his voice dripping with an unsettling confidence.

"What? No way!" I snapped, shoving him away. But the fucker was persistent. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into a kiss. A hot, deep kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through my body. It was the first time I had ever been kissed by another man, and I couldn't deny the strange thrill that coursed through me. It was like he had a fucking hold on me, controlling me in ways I couldn't quite comprehend.

"I know something about you," he whispered, pulling out his damn iPad and showing me some of the captions and stories I had written about my wildest fucking transformations and fantasies.

He held up another bag, this one filled with a shit-ton of cash. Enough money to make all my dreams come fucking true. My eyes widened as I snatched the bag away, the gears in my head turning at a million miles per fucking hour. I had a choice to make, and goddamn it, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with all that cash and the opportunity that stood right in front of me.