Excerpt from Yoga Girls (Book One) of The Bimbo Mantra Series:
You know how it is fashionable now to be a geek? Geeks are all over the media. It seems like everyone is pretending that they were into Dungeons and Dragons when they were young, or that they can be a geek just because they once bought a comic.
Well the reality is a little different. Most people, it seems, didn’t get the message. Maybe if you’re a multi-millionaire geek, or a geek who just happens to have model looks, you might be in luck. But for the rest of us, life as a geek is the same as it ever was. We still get bullied, mocked and rejected, no matter how fashionable mock-geek glasses or science might be in the media.
My name is Jonas, and yes, I’m a geek. But I’m a rare kind of geek. I’m a geek who managed to turn the tables. No, I didn’t turn violent. I’m a geek, not a psychopath. The assumption that every shy, lonely, insecure young man is a tragedy waiting to happen is another layer of insult. Isn’t it enough that we get treated as outcasts already, without having people think we could go on a murder spree at any moment?
So how did I do it? Have you ever heard the expression that the best revenge in life is living well? It’s kind of true. At least, it has been for me.
My path to revenge started a few months ago. I was ten years out of high school, five years out of college, and living in a crappy apartment in the worst part of town. I had a post-grad qualification in Ancient History, a ton of debt, a crappy job at a chicken shack, and ten rejection letters, one from each of the Museums and Historical Associations in the state.
Things were not supposed to turn out like this. The idea that got me through high school was that ultimately I was on the right path.
Sure, I was humiliated on a regular basis throughout my education. There was the time when Brandi recorded me asking her out, changed the pitch of my voice, and put it online. Then there was the day that Helena pretended she wanted to make out with me, tricked me into removing my pants, and then ran off with them, leaving me to run half-naked through the school. Oh, and the final crowning glory of my prom night, when my miracle date Katie ditched me in the first five minutes and apparently spent most of the night making out with Carl behind the Sports Hall.
But no matter how bad things got, I always clung to the idea that one day, I was going to be a professor. I was going to have a huge house, an adoring family, a series of bestselling books, and above all, I was going to have respect. But when the reality dawned on me that Ancient History doesn’t really pay that well, it was like the final, biggest wedgie of them all.
So for a time, I kind of gave up. I stopped researching my book on Ancient Egyptian texts and spent my days being mocked and bullied by the other workers at the chicken place, and my nights playing various repetitive online games, that offered temporary respite from reality, but never the promise of actually improving my situation.
On the day that the tectonic plates of my life began to shift, I had suffered yet another crushing humiliation in nearly three decades of crushing humiliations. Caron, the feisty, least bullying of my colleagues, had suggested, half-joking, that I go to her yoga class. She seemed a bit shocked when I said I’d like to. I was a bit shocked myself. I thought for sure that she would turn it into another joke at my expense. But instead she shrugged and said it was okay.
With hindsight, I ought to have spotted that a shrug is hardly a ringing endorsement. But in my defense, I had a low threshold for these things, and anything short of abuse or mockery felt like a warm invitation to friendship.
So the next day, I walked the seven blocks to the building where Caron’s friend Hannah holds a yoga class on the third floor. My palms were clammy and I may even have been shaking a little by the time I found the right place, but I was determined to go through with it. Closing my eyes, I opened the door and stepped inside.
Immediately, I was struck with horror. The whole room was full of lycra-clad women, all bending forwards with their legs wide open, and all somehow turning to look at me over their shoulders. As I gazed out across the sea of butts, I caught the eye of Hannah, a tall, broad-shouldered woman with the biggest breasts I had ever seen. She raised one manicured fingernail towards the door.
“Get out of here. This is not a place for perverts. It’s a woman only class.”
I stammered, hesitated, and then did as I was told. As I gave a last glance across the room, I saw Caron, who caught my eye, then quickly looked away.
Well that was it, as far as I was concerned. I was an outcast, a loser, a nobody, and it was time I faced up to it. So I went wherever I go when I need solace; the public library.
I wandered through the rows of shelves, inhaling the unique perfume of dust and furniture polish that always hangs so richly in the air in that place. All the time, I was replaying the events of the afternoon over and over, reliving my humiliation repeatedly. I was so engrossed in punishing myself that I didn’t notice I had wandered past the No Entry sign that had been erected in front of the oldest part of the library, which was being refurbished.
I didn’t notice where I was until I nearly walked into an old set of shelves. Starting, I put out my hand and it came to rest on a tatty piece of parchment. I picked it up. The parchment was covered in a strange set of symbols, which I hadn’t seen before. The closer I looked at it, though, the more the symbols appeared to me to represent women. There were lots of women, all tangled together, and one symbol standing to the side, with a strange protrusion, that I took to be a man. Without stopping to think, I stuffed the page into my pocked and headed back to my apartment.
I spent the rest of the day trying to decipher it. But the symbols eluded all translations. They weren’t Latin or Greek, Egyptian, Hebrew or Sanskrit. They definitely appeared to relate to some kind of orgy, maybe some kind of charm or mantra, I wasn’t sure.
It was way after midnight before I finally gave up, but as I fell on my bed, reciting various possible interpretations of the symbols, I suddenly felt a burst of energy, like a bolt of electricity had been shot through me. At the same time, my apartment was flooded with golden light.
Heart beating, I muttered the words again. The same thing happened. It was incredible. Had I finally found an ancient mantra that was real? And what was the effect of it? What did it do?
I was too tired to put it into practice that night, but by the time I woke up the following morning, a plan had formed in my head. I knew exactly what I was going to do.
* * * *
I walked the seven blocks in a mood of grim determination, mingled with mild terror. Returning to the scene of my humiliation was definitely not my normal practice. But if this mantra worked, if it really worked, then it could, maybe, possibly, help me get some of my dignity back.
But as I climbed the stairs, I began to have second thoughts. Was I really about to go into that roomful of women? What if I couldn’t remember the words? What if they didn’t work? All of these thoughts were realistic and sensible, and usually it takes far less rational thoughts than those to persuade me to avoid a situation. But this time was different. From somewhere, somehow, I had found the courage to face my fear, to stride into battle, like a warrior mage with a spell upgrade.
I stood in front of the door. This was it. I opened it and stepped inside.
The room was nearly empty. Nearly. Over on the far side of the room, were three women. Caron was one of them, Hannah was the other and the third was, a tall, gorgeous Latina woman, who was the first to look at me.
“What is it, Jenni?” asked Hannah. Jenni nodded at the door and frowned. Hannah looked over and her face was thunderous.
“I told you yesterday, pervert, this is not a place for you.” She strode across the empty room, heading right for me. Hurriedly, I muttered the words. Nothing happened. I repeated them, louder and suddenly the room was bathed in bright golden light that flared up and then faded away.
Hannah was standing right in front of me. She looked dazed, as though she had stood up too quickly or had a flash back or something. Then she looked at me and smiled. Her lips were open and she ran her tongue along her teeth, without ever taking her eyes off me.
It had worked!
Hannah walked towards me, very slowly, until she was standing so, so close. I felt her hand on my chest and then her other hand sliding down, over my shirt, pressing against my body, and down, down towards my pants which were already bulging.
Still stunned, I watched as she slowly dropped to her knees, resting her palms on my thighs, and nuzzled my bulge with her lips. It was the most incredible sensation I had ever experienced. Over her shoulder I could see Jenny and Caron. Both were looking over at us and as I gazed, feeling the release of pressure caused by Hannah opening my pants, I saw Jenni slowly slip out of her costume, revealing her slender waist and incredible pert breasts. Caron was also stripping and it felt so wrong to stare at her, the woman who I worked with every day, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she peeled out of the skin-tight top she was wearing.
I was gazing, enraptured by her breasts, when I felt a cold breeze on my cock and I realized that Hannah had freed me. As I looked down I saw her lips close around my swollen member and I gasped as I felt her mouth on me, hot and wet.