Vacation: Rawrbug


This is an erotic piece of fiction established in the real world.


Houses in the sleepy neighborhood of Brookdale bathed in morning fog; Trees mingling with lofty cloudscapes hung overhead, extending past civilization to create a vexing tapestry of flora and fauna. Twilight lingered, dripping starlight onto riverbanks still blanketed in the chill of night. Insects skittered throughout dew-laden grass, instilled with an initiative long abandoned by most at the week’s climax. Soothing gradients crested over treetops, painting clarity for anyone weary eyed. With once muffled chirps now penetrating hours of solitude to create auditory splendor; the night was finally vanquished.

While many weren’t at all eager to finish the week’s remaining hours of servitude, one particular individual snuck himself in between the layers of sunlight and moonlight in pursuit of peace. With his shoes nearly falling apart, the twenty-seven year old soldiered onward to meet with his street’s entrance. Not one house in the entirety of Brookdale gave off a light, still in denial of responsibility. Zach’s presence wasn’t required anywhere today, so he couldn’t begrudge them for feeling pensive; after all, work was dissipated from his day in preparation for a vacation. A three-day vacation but an escape from the mundane goings on that reality offered him for the better part of his twenties.

With nothing but an iPod in tow and heavy eyes, the sleep deprived youth meandered toward his house as though he was returning from war. Fortunately, in a couple of hours, his clamor for a change of scenery would present itself. Unfortunately, Alabama would maintain its grasp on him for just a while longer as he trudged home with the melancholy realization that his father would gravitate into his cone of vision for at least a few seconds. The three-second malaise of trudging past alcohol-fueled insults, though brief, dominated every other negative aspect of most days in Zach’s life.

Anticipating an unwarranted tongue lashing, the volume was cranked up until his own thoughts were inaudible. With one swift motion, Zach pushed the front door open, spun around, and closed it without glancing at his dad even slightly. Noise blared over anything else within proximity, maintaining the illusion that nobody was home. Turning to dart toward the hall, this illusion was broken as his father sat slumped over on a messy couch peppered with cigarette burns. The slightest glance triggered an onslaught of incendiary threats, paramount to a caveman’s hunt being encroached upon.

His mass couldn’t be mistaken for muscle, even on rare occasions when Tommy chose to wear a shirt, it clamored to escape. Short unwashed hair as black as his lungs paralleled the glutton’s facial hair, though far more alcohol and snot happened to be layered into his hideously uneven mustache. As infrequently as Tommy chose to bathe, even less so did he brush his few remaining teeth. Nary a moment passed when he wasn’t sat at home increasing the size of the dent created on his couch long ago. This picture had been burned into Zach’s brain as a representation of what he didn’t want to become.

A powerful thud could be felt resonating throughout the house as Zach’s bedroom door was shut behind him. A black suitcase drowned in a sea of discarded clothes and damp towels. Various other objects were scattered throughout the room in the form of water bottles and cables of various size and shape. Zach walked an hour to work and back, eroding any effort potentially aimed at cleaning up whenever some free time came out of hiding. Taking a moment to assess the situation, the road weary traveler collapsed on his bed and reveled in the solace of relaxing in Portland for the weekend.


In a suspiciously conniving effort expended by a wave of toddlers, Zach’s initial plan of sleeping for the duration of his flight wasn’t successful. Accompanying this common nuisance was a more updated version in the form of inconsiderate adults tapping away at unnecessarily loud mobile games. Obnoxious though it was, the possibility that they were unknowingly racking up charges through microtransactions somewhat put the dreary-eyed vacationer at ease. Unfortunately, this was intercepted by the fact that the hours of audible abuse encountered here deterred even the slightest possibility of achieving a refreshed composure. Filled to the brim with regret, Zach opted to combat one questionable motive with another and loaded up on caffeine, occasionally making death laced eye contact with certain passengers that were seemingly transplanted from the ninth circle of hell.

Boundless energy clashed with grogginess as Flight 541 completed its journey. A welcoming breeze painted itself against Zach’s beanie, barely making an impact as the overly caffeinated adult stormed out of Portland International şişli escort Airport. A mixture of mental degradation and hyperactivity affected his ability to access the Uber app, though he eventually figured it out, his discourse with the unlucky driver was paramount to sidling along a steep mountainside whilst carrying a belligerent goat in tow. The fish out of water hadn’t a propensity for forced conversation, not at all valuing whatever score his chauffeur was concocting for the duration of their short trip. Attention was more-so fixated on the urban layout of high rise buildings, spewing out of them crowds Zach hadn’t witnessed in the rural tapestries of Southern Alabama.

At the mouth of the Hotel Marriot stood Zach, rummaging through various pockets in search of his phone to assist with checking in. As loose change spilled onto Portland’s streets, a litany of hotel patrons swept by. A great deal of them were outfitted in garb representative of video games, comic books, and even wrestling; giving the impression that they had flown in for Wizard World as well. Worriment was plastered across the face of several hotel employees, parallel to Simba anticipating the stampede. Suitcases banged against buckling knees, causing the sleep deprived to merge with concrete as though they were taking their hobbies a bit too seriously by trying to meld with stone.

Puzzled and in many ways impressed by how quickly this escalated into the train wreck laid out before him, Zach shambled over body parts, nearly getting tripped up as though souls in the River Styx were trying to escape. The rebel of Brookdale felt a sense of accomplishment after having experienced the juxtaposition of sidestep clamor outside to now being enveloped by an overwhelming rush of relaxation inside. Certain circles preparing an excursion to Wizard World congregated at various points throughout the lobby. The less awkward individuals amidst the hysteria could be heard voicing their excitement in barely distinguishable patches as Zach cruised toward his room. Eyeing many of the female figures that darted past him, the libertine viciously rubbed his eyes, now treating said women as inspiration for barreling through the rest of the day instead of passing out where he stood.

Illuminated fixtures showered his weariness in nagging fluorescence, eyes which were normally devoid of color carried with them a faint brown glow. Cold water splashed so vigorously against Zach’s pale complexion that for a moment his skin gave way to bare bone. Tufts of dark brown hair swam in this very same chill, now stuck firmly against the spacious billboard of epidermis that was his forehead. Brushing back his bangs to sit firmly underneath his beanie, Zach let out an exasperated sigh, as though he would shortly be contending against a behemoth to gain entry into heaven. Further plying his exhausted state, a quick slap plastered a relic of red across his cheek; the young adult carried an intense fervor which drove him to enjoy his first ever expenditure out of the bible belt, even if this was heavily impacted by younger sleep siphoning souls.


Countless stalls, kiosks, and booths were nestled closely together creating a perimeter for hordes of fanatics to peruse. Celebrities were treated with sycophantic splendor, hearing marriage proposals stacked on mounds of autograph requests. Sandwiched in between these groups were a cacophony of cosplayers-some more scantily clad than others. Appeasing both themselves and others, many parroted the very characters they were portraying; some with catch phrases, others with elaborate performances. A fair few were mercurial in their approach, slipping into the skin of a different character for each day of the convention.

Select cosplayers carried with them sizeable followings, their presence was nary unheard of or unnoticed at most public events. Though Zach had rarely interfaced with this portal into the glitz and glamor of everyday Halloween enthusiasts, the sight of crowds surrounding such individuals as Jessica Nigri and Yaya Han alerted him to such. Should he have wanted any of their merchandise, the wait for either would have whittled down what little time Zach planned on staying for the day into essentially nothing due to the initial stages of his ongoing caffeine crash. Traipsing through the jungles of body spray and snapback hats carried with it a stormcloud of coughing fits and pretentious conversation – though a surprisingly scarce visual of Monster shirts. Devaluing the entirety of Wizard World based on the past few minutes, Zach tore himself away from surroundings at a quicker pace; however, the faster he moved, the tighter the spaces around him became.

While not claustrophobic, Zach found it progressively harder to breathe the further he walked. This labyrinth of warm bodies budged only slightly upon contact, not at all willing to give up their respective positions. Any slight resistance was met with scoffing, swearing, and or disgusted glances. Unwilling to assimilate, Zach initiated a bumrush in the least populated direction visible from his distorted perspective. A shoving match ensued shortly thereafter, eventually dissipating the sea of body spray into such thin numbers that the only person standing in between Zach and an unfortunate date with the floor was an unlucky cosplayer.

Shock circulated throughout every fiber of this raven haired beauty. Her eyes, golden in their radiance, displayed a sobering inability to assess what was transpiring. Outfitted in a rather revealing top with her midsection and a sizeable amount of cleavage on display, the shaken cosplayer already felt vulnerable without the visual of a stranger thundering toward her. She hadn’t much time to react to the situation beyond slightly angling herself away from him. However, the distressed damsel absorbed the entirety of Zach’s person as he crashed into her, his face buried deep in the middle of her now exposed breasts.

Onlookers were torn between laughing and gasping; phones materialized into existence out of nowhere, fixated on the collision that answered every nearby pervert’s prayers. As though the horrors of Pandora’s Box had just been revealed to the world, the cosplayer tucked firmly underneath Zach used all of her strength to push him away. He understood her embarrassment, sharing a large portion of it himself, so as he assisted her feat of strength, Zach then stood up and extended his hand down to her.

“Mmmm relly sorr, are ya ok?” Zach inquired, his delivery paramount to an insomniac on a strict energy drink diet. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, his words carrying with them a weight he rarely felt. The flustered soul reached out almost reflexively, yet he now simmered in distress to the near-point of walking away and pretending as though this never happened. This pollution of guilt and dread reverberated throughout Zach’s entire being, visible by the shaken state of his arm still laid out before him. The crowd gathered around this awkward stage play did their part in perpetuating a sense of discomfort in either party, all the while jeering and cat calling – some even suggesting that Zach’s badge be confiscated.

Time stood still as they gazed upon one another, mouths agape, struggling to find words or even actions to resolve this catastrophe. Their eyes served as mirrors for those nearby to further examine the despair and tension each individual shared. Loathsome though this mob had become, a fraction of them grew sympathetic to Zach’s plight, misappropriating their initial derision while now beckoning the estranged cosplayer to grasp his hand. However, as though a spell had just been broken, she tore herself away from her assailant’s stare to quantify the sheer size of the crowd surrounding them. Rather than yielding the response Zach wanted, she stood up -her movements implying a severe sensation of anxiety.

“I..I have to go!” She exclaimed in a somewhat inaudible fashion before dispersing, parting the crowd as she jolted. In response, Zach’s expression melted into a somber daze-his arm now stretched out to meet with nothing. What was once jeering devolved into antagonistic laughing – the more heinous attendees mimicking him by holding their arms outward. The words to properly describe the situation weren’t coming to him, and should they have, he was in no state to act as their proxy. Using his other arm, he clasped his own hand and initiated a shaking motion, softening the once ruckus crowd and instilling within it a sense of comradery.


The first day of Wizard World was a blur – a hyperactive, painful, cleavage-filled blur. Though Zach was still reeling from having undressed someone by force, he was fortunate in that his sleep went uninterrupted. However, his guilt bled over into the second day with the lack of an appetite, burying any motivation for truly enjoying the day’s events. Two options lay before him: should he retreat to his hotel room, or try his best to locate the cosplayer he embarrassed? Letting out a huge sigh, Zach stepped into the convention center with the swagger of an inmate walking to their execution.

Some were dismissive, others alerted Zach to the pictures they took of the once-topless cosplayer – regardless, a large knot formed in his throat whenever he encountered either sort. Using his newfound popularity, he inquired as to the woman’s location – unfortunately, nobody appeared to have any leads. Supposed eyewitnesses that swore they shared the same hotel room claimed to have seen her leaving in the middle of the night, whereas others recanted dubious tales of sexual escapades involving themselves.

“Highly unlikely…and selfish.” Zach retorted. Common sense alerted him to the possibility that if she hadn’t left, she wouldn’t be dressed in the same outfit. Taking this into consideration, she would probably blend in, muddying Zach’s search even further. To counter this, he then thought perhaps viewing the convention from higher up would eventually bring her into view. Checking any relevant tweets for Wizard World on Twitter could also shed light on her whereabouts; with his newfound optimism, Zach marched toward the escalators.


Two hours with no leads or information molded optimism into pessimism. Zach, with a wide grimace painted across his face, stood with his arms slung over a banister. The fleeting possibility of her having left Portland distorted his view on the remainder of the weekend, having never gotten the chance to explain himself. Frustration slowly built into a rage as Zach lifted his phone in the air, to then make a downward motion with the same arm.

“Son of a bitch!” Zach muttered under his breath. His arm banged against the top of the banister, though his anger instantly alleviated whatever pain he would have felt. To some degree, the furious twenty-seven-year-old felt insulted that such a person would deny him the opportunity to properly apologize. But he also understood that whether or not it was done with intent, he exposed a woman’s breasts to a busy convention floor. Unfortunately, Zach couldn’t tarry much longer debating the duality of what had transpired, as his attention was broken by a noise; a noise which revealed to him that his phone was no longer in his hand.

Further examining the ground below brought a shocking revelation to Zach’s already distraught state; his phone had not only fallen, but it appeared to be broken as well. His grimace grew wider, with any and all hope being washed away by the second. As though this wasn’t enough, his phone attracted attention, but not necessarily the attention he was seeking.

“Hey, yo! The dude that motorboated that chick yesterday! Hey, I think your phone’s broke, man!” A random voice could be heard shouting upward, attracting even more unwanted attention. Zach simply lay his head on the banister, vaguely waving one arm at the crowd gathering below.


So far Wizard World paralleled that of a thunderstorm, layer upon layer of unfortunate circumstances ramped up to create one large, disastrous scenario. Had Zach been born in the middle ages, he would have been run out of town, but at the very least he would have gotten a bard song out of it. Given his bad luck streak, however, bard colleges everywhere would have embellished his infamy, eventually pegging him as a bestiality advocate. This melancholy disposition saw Zach sat on a bench, far removed from the goings on of the convention. The only company he kept was that of a drink machine, which refused to judge him or misconstrue his actions – instead, opting to provide the avatar of misfortune with a cold beverage.

Occasionally convention staff would wander over and inquire whether or not Zach was okay, which would result in a long, unwarranted diatribe concerning his second life as a court jester. This would have acted as an interesting concept were he cosplaying and not outfitted in a Zelda shirt, blue jeans, and haggard Converses but the latter caused the story to nosedive. With no phone to occupy his solitude and a fair few staffers confused by his state of mind, Zach regaled the nearby Coke machine with multiple stories – one which had nothing to do with him, rather, about how all Pixar movies are connected. With no feedback or even the ability to walk away, the lifeless machine endured said speech for a good hour, then another voice rang through the air; something familiar.

“You know that can’t talk back, right?” Upon hearing someone conflict with his one-sided discussion, Zach immediately tilted his head in that direction to see this voice belonged to the very cosplayer he was seeking.

“You’re…her, yeah? I mean, your hair’s different and your tits aren’t out but..” His choice of words evoked laughter on her part, implying she wasn’t entirely cross with his actions.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m Jessica, by the way.” Her hand reached out, complemented by a sly smirk. Zach reluctantly met his hand with her own, expecting to be slapped at some point – luckily, she did nothing of the sort.

“Oh, so you do know how to shake hands.” his voice elevated an octave as he spoke, exuding elation. Her mood matched his own as she sat next to him, dawning everyday clothing as he initially suspected.

“Zach.” He chortled, shifting his position to give her more room. Their smiles drifted away from one another to scan their surroundings, unsure of how to progress with the conversation.

“So…I really want to apologize..” His words somberly crawled into existence. Jessica cut him off.