Unsolicited

Cammie's not enjoying the pictures she's getting so she does something about it.

The computer dinged. Cammie cringed.

The unwanted noise meant another message. For some reason, the social media algorithm put her name out to its followers. She didn’t necessarily mind that aspect, it meant more visibility for her work.

That wasn’t why she hated the sound of the messages coming in.

No.

Her new friend requests came from thirsty men who ignored her married tag. Who wrote her and tried video calling her so much, they broke her chat tool. It would go through phases where it would load the messages and then would stop.

Even that experience she could have endured but the messages they shared made her skin crawl. Hundreds of them, coming in at once. I want to have sex with you all day. Send nudes. Let’s fuck. Or the less offensive ones: You’re so beautiful, let’s marry. Come visit me in … country. I make you the happiest women alive.

She tried to be nice. Told them she was married, wasn’t interested in anything, and only would be friends, but their intensity would increase, her refusal a challenge to their persistence. No could only be said so many ways and when she ignored them, they got upset. Accused her of being rude when they were just being polite.

It made her imagine taking the electronic message bell and beating it senseless with a bat.

But, then other messages came. Worse than before. One man sent her a ton of emojis of lips, hearts, and pickles. The red flag devolved into a headless picture with him holding his dick in his hand at the camera.

“Gross,” she said out loud. No one wanted to see it.

And, she pressed her nose closer to the screen. “Dude, you should really probably see a doctor for that. Nasty.”

Her computer dinged as if acknowledging her judgment. It was Pickle Lover’s follow-up, Ur pic please.

No. She’d already told him to leave her alone. She forwarded his willy shot back to him.

Ding. No ur pic.

The keyboard clacked like popcorn as she typed out, It’s my picture now. And I’m forwarding it to government agencies for their viewing pleasure too.

She slapped the cursor X button and sighed as the one chat box disappeared but there were so many more behind it from other thirst trolls. Before she could answer any of them, Pickles popped back up.

No, not my picture. Ur pic.

“Take a fucking hint, m’guy.” Her fingers flew across the letters. I did. That’s my pic now. May you giggle as much as I did.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” she cursed, this was never going to stop.

Another chat window popped up from a man old enough to be her grandfather. It shared a brief clip of porn, a headless man taking a young woman from behind.

Trying to dismiss and yet absorb what had just been sent her, the computer dinged again.

Pickles: Please beautiful want to see ur pic.

“Oh, I’ll show you my picture, you perv.” She yanked out her tablet and downloaded his candid picture. With her creative app, she added a pair of scissors, erased the tip, and arched a spray of thick red mist from his nether bits.

A quick save and she uploaded it to her chat box. She smirked at the computer screen. “How’s that for my picture, Mr. Worm in Hand?”

Ding. Not Pickles.

Ding. Ding. Ding. None of them Mr. Pickles.

Triumph made her do a happy wiggle. That was one down, out of hundreds, each one demanding she respond even though she was one person and they were legion.

Mr. Porn Clip sent her something in French. She replied back, No.

More French. No. No. And no again.

And more French. Then his own slab of wrinkly pork in hand.

Her stomach flip-flopped and she recoiled from the computer. Why did men think women wanted to see their ding-a-ling? First off, not their best attribute. But secondly, one shlong looked like the next one. Unless you were Pickles, then a doc’s visit was a good idea. But she didn’t ask for it, didn’t even play nice, told them flat-out no and they still opted to assault her eyes.

“Fine, you want to be that way. Let’s play the screw with you game.” Cammie pulled out her tablet again and mutilated his snake the same way as Pickles. The red splashing across her screen brought her grim satisfaction.

When she sent it to him, she received the same response.

Silence.

The continued face calls attempted by the other trolls broke her chat again so she focused on other things, like not looking at unwanted dick pics. Two hours later, she discovered three more mini peens on her screen from three other men.

They received the same cold-hearted treatment. She didn’t want their pictures, they didn’t want hers. Seemed justified.

After her chat went down again, she scrolled through the news. A headline grabbed her attention. “Man in Cafe Has Gentials Mysteriously Sliced”. Morbid curiosity won out and she clicked on the brutal story. As her eyes flicked across the tale, the hairs on her arms stood up. There was a picture, blurry and pixelated from a cell phone and though not much could be seen of the man, she could see the stripes of his shirt. Pale pink and blue, like Pickles.

Sour milk and bad eggs fragranced the room so thick she tasted it on the back of her throat. Gagging, she stood up to check what brought in the offending odor.

“No need to get up on my account,” a sultry voice purred.

She whipped around, knocking her chair over. A slender woman in a black latex suit stood behind her. Around her waist, she wore a black belt with a cat tail whip sticking out of a holster. With a smile, she sat on Cammie’s bed, crossed her legs, and interlaced her latex-gloved fingers together.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Cammie asked, her fingers groping on the desk behind her, trying to find something she could use as a weapon.

The woman clicked her tongue and said, “None of that, now. You don’t have to hurt me. I’m just here to help you. Seems like you’ve been having some problems with unsolicited pictures.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“You’ve got breasts and a vagina. Need I say more?”

Cammie didn’t answer, feeling exactly like her gender painted a target on her for the hormonal driven onslaught of messages.

The woman recognized the lack of argument and continued, “As I was saying, I’m here to help you. I can’t make it stop. No one’s found that trick yet. But, I am happy to imbue you with the continued ability to punish them.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You just found out what I meant. Pickles I believe is what you’ve been calling him. Seems he had an accident while harassing women online. As soon as the stories are cleared, you’ll find out he’s one of five men scattered across the world who’s had the same accident happen.” She stood up again, the whip’s tails brushing the back of her leg as she stepped forward. “More can have the same accident. They force themselves visually, mentally, and physically on women who say no. Or who don’t even speak to them. You can ensure they can’t do it again to their next victim.”

“Yeah right. I had nothing to do with that.” Cammie shook her head, deciding somewhere along the lines, she must have lost it.

The woman pointed at the tablet. “You used that. And you can keep using it. When you receive more pictures, which let’s face it, we both know you will, just keep sending them back.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. And, even if it did, wouldn’t the police figure out it was me? I mean, if all the men have the same messages and the same injuries, wouldn’t it get linked to me?” Cammie picked up the art tool, studying the screen.

Even her laugh came out sexy and slithered around the room like desire given a voice. “No. That’s the beauty of it. The police can see theirs but they can’t see yours.”

“Why would you have me do this? How does it even work?” she asked.

The woman stood so close the heavy cloy of spoiled eggs filled Cammie’s stomach. “Let’s just say, I enjoy bad men getting punished. As for how it works, I can’t tell you that or it’ll spoil the magic. Are you in?”

The computer dinged, and she knew, without checking it that another cock had made its way into her chat. The decision made itself.

She nodded her head, “Yeah, I’m in.”

The woman pressed her shiny red lips to Cammie’s. Vomit rose in the back of her throat at the bitter taste of decay and rot. Before she could push the woman away, she dissolved into a cloud of smoke. A few blinks and the smoke was gone.

Cammie examined her empty room, trying to decide if it had happened or not.

Ding. Ding.

“Fucking A, you thirsty bastards,” she said as she turned back to read her messages. Sure enough, another pale one-eyed snake had crawled into her messages. With her eyes narrowed, she unlocked her tablet and downloaded the image.

Red splashed across the screen and she smiled. She could send unsolicited pictures too.