Is It S.O.S.? No, It’s Mayday!

Creator Note:

Dearest Readers ~ I wrote a series of blogs/stories, mostly told in first-person narrative, back in 2007. I was part of a small’ish Sim community on Myspace that focused on Roleplay. My intention to join, at the time, was to obtain a bigger audience for the Sim stories I was creating, but found comfort in the warmth and support of the Sim-community. My Sim, DJ, began Myspace (or “Simspace”) as a teenager, struggling with onset depression, due to her parents’ sudden death, and instead of working through the pain, she disregarded it completely, finding solace in various vices (excessive alcohol usage and making out with strangers). I’ve decided to share a few (3) of my favorite blogs from that time, before I begin telling the story of who DJ is now, in the year 2022. The photos from these three blogs will be from Sims 2. I apologize in advance for how dated these screenshots appear.

** This blog is rated PG-13 for language/mild profanity**

Wednesday, May 28, 2009

It was a quarter after one when she walked into my office. She wasn’t like most dames that came here needing assistance, dumpy broads with soggy handkerchiefs. She was a knockout. Her story was a pathetic one. She had debts to pay. Credit card companies were relentless. A crime boss had threatened her; she either gave him the money that was owed or he would have her pay it off in other means – sinister means.  She came to me for help. The credit card debt wasn’t hers. She was being framed, but she didn’t know by whom. 

I leaned back in my chair and told her I’d accept her case. She was a thankful one, and I was used to the thanks of many dames that came along. In this line of work it is to be expected.  Mostly homemade pies sufficed, but she was too pretty to slave over a hot oven for a slice of gratitude. So I did the only thing a man in my position could do, I kissed her. She was putty in my hands. I knew she wanted me. I felt it in the way she went limp against my body with the slightest touch of my lips against her skin. She tasted as sweet as she smelled, of champagne and strawberries.

Like every other dame that stepped foot in the office, she instantly fell in love with me.  Resistance was futile against my debonair smile and good looks. Many-a-dame said I was the spitting-image of Rudolph Valentino with the charisma of Cary Grant. Who was I to deny their intuition? 

“A-HEM!”

“wha-what?” 

“Are you okay over there, mister-space-cadet? Thought I lost you to another dimension or something.” I said. 

“Did you say something?” He asked.

“Hello?! Yes! I’m looking for Charlie. I have an appointment to see him.”

“Oh,” the boy chuckled, and then rather clumsily fell out of the chair, which was obviously too large for his small frame. He straightened up, as though he appeared to have fallen out of the chair on purpose, and said, “I am Charlie.”

“You’re, Charlie?” I asked in total disbelief.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out, Toots.”  He said as he gave me a toothy grin.

I stared at him dumbfounded. Did he just call me “Toots?” I thought to myself. I shook it off because it was too eerie. Never, in my 19-years, have I been called “Toots,” until I met Cato, and now this person who claims to be Charlie. I began to tell him the purpose of my visit when we were interrupted.

Turns out little-liar-pants was not Charlie (like I didn’t see that one coming). In fact Charlie wasn’t even a guy, but rather a woman – his sister to be exact. She gave him hell for impersonating her in front of a client. I had to bite down on my lip not to laugh. Poor schmuck, I thought.

Charlie was a Private Investigator, and I needed my privates investigated (sorry, couldn’t resist). I wanted to do a certain someone a favor (the someone will go nameless for now, sorry, I must protect my sources). The favor was investigating the man that my roommate Gen was dating. I figured everyone has skeletons in their closets. Her new boyfriend was 61-years-old (dating an 18-year-old!), so you knew he had to have more than just skeletons in his closet, and I was determined to find out what they were (I wanted to give Gen a reason to break up with him. I knew deep down she was still in love with Cato’s older brother, Cayden Dimitri). Charlie said she would need some information (which I was able to provide) and that was that.  She would be in contact with me. I shook her hand, and left. However, as I stepped foot out the door I was stopped.

“Hey! Hold on a second.”  Said a voice – It was Charlie’s brother.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to apologize for what happened.”

I laughed, “Aw, think nothing of it, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.” 

I had to bite my lip as I smiled.  Little boys are so precious. I just wanted to pinch him.  “How old are you then?”

“I’m nineteen. I just look young.” He said, a bit humored.

“Oh, sorry about that.”  I laughed. “You do look quite young. Cute but young.”  My face burned.  This was going from bad to worse. I hoped he didn’t hear the last thing I said, “I’m actually nineteen, too.”

“I figured you had to be at least 18 because of your….”

Oh god, he’s talking about my boob job I thought. I mean his eyes were trailing down. Quick! Don’t let him know that you know what he’s thinking about!  “My what?” I asked.

“Your checking account, obviously. Gotta be at least eighteen to have one.”

“Oh.” Could I be a bigger idiot? I stared at him silently. “You look familiar, have we met – before today I mean?”  

“Maybe. I dunno. I meet lots of new people everyday, it’s my thing. I’m pretty sure you would remember me if we had met. I make quite the impression.”

Wow, you’re certainly full of it aren’t you, kid?  I thought to myself. “Well, it’s been real,” I said.  I needed to leave… badly.  

“Wait! I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m DJ. You know, like Disc Jockey.”  I made a little turn-table scratching impersonation. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said as he extended his hand to shake.  A little formal, but whatever.  “I’m Kade, by the way.”

“Kade?” I squinted my eyes at him. “Are you that farting boy on YouTube?”

His face turned red, but he managed to laugh, “Yup, that’s me. I guess that’s my calling card, huh?”

“Hey, you’re the one that posts reaction-videos of you farting in the movie theaters, not me.”  

We laughed, and chatted for a few more minutes, and then I left. 

****************************

Gen and I were hosting a Midsummer’s Eve Masquerade Ball next month in Germany, and planning a party is tedious to begin with, but planning a party in another country is a layer of hell. There were still final touches that needed to be done, and since Gen was spending days and nights over at her new boyfriend’s mansion, and traveling to exotic destinations, it was on me to finalize it all.

A beeping noise altered me that I had just received a series of texts. I got inside my car, flipped open my phone, and nearly fainted as I read the text messages Gen had just sent:

In Milan for Fashionweek! 

Got an Aston Martin!!

Got engaged!!!

Gen had sent a few closeup photos of her enormous diamond ring from various angles, as well as a photo of her, her new fiancé, and her new car.

“That bitch!” I shouted, thankful that none of my windows were rolled down. 

Getting married 07/01/09!! 

Say yes that you’ll be my MOH!

“Maid of Honor?! You have to be kidding me, Gen! I need to call Charlie, and see if she can make my case a priority. I don’t care how much more this will cost, I cannot let one of my best friends pay the ultimate price and ruin her life!”

To Be Continued…..