Free short stories about Generation End

Archive for the ‘Natasha’ Category


We're all slaves to something -

I know I’ve been writing about women a lot lately but my story with Natasha is a story I just had to finish. You see, Natasha and I met again a few more times: we had dinner once in a while, we went to an event once in a while, we texted once in a while.

“You know what I’ve wanted to do lately?” she asked me as she finished off a meal one evening.


“Weed. I’ve never had weed. I’ve never even had a cigarette. I’ve been too tame when it comes to drugs, and I think it’s time I started doing more. I dated my ex-boyfriend for eight years, and we were like, good together and everything, but I’ve been living, like, way too innocently.”

“Weed’s underrated.” I pushed my plate away. “You know what’s better than weed?”



“Whatever,” she said, giggling. “But now that you mention it, I actually had a cousin who was addicted to heroin. She came over one night with a tourniquet and all of this other stuff. I was twelve years old and I watched her get high. And she just sat there, injecting herself, watching me back.”

“Must have been the highlight of your childhood.”

“It totally was. I took a photo of her doing it with my parents’ camera. Then she killed herself a month later. What’s the worst thing you’ve done when it comes to drugs?”


“What’s the worst thing you’ve done when it comes to drugs?”

“Oh you know nothing much,” I shrugged. “Anyway let’s go for a drive.”

We ended up at the casino, where I put twenty bucks on a game of black jack and completely lost.

“The key is to watch what everyone’s doing.” Natasha watched what people were doing and confidently put a chip on someone’s cards. She lost.

After losing a few more times we headed for the bar. We talked to each other for a while until Natasha recognised a couple in the distance and walked up to them. I sat there, watching them talk: the way they spoke, their body language – there was something suspicious about it all. The guy leant into Natasha with a serious expression on his face, nodding once in a while, making an occasional comment while glancing up at me; it was as if Natasha was offering a business proposal that he was very keen on listening to. It was only until later that the couple smiled. But it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile Jude likes to make when we’re out and he’s looking at a girl in the distance, thinking that she’s looking back at him too.

Natasha returned about twenty minutes later. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I’m drunk now.”

Natasha nodded at the couple in the distance. “See that woman over there?”

“The ugly one?”

“She’s a transvestite.”

“Okay. And?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re fine with that. I see that couple around here a lot. They’re game to have a foursome with us. You’ve never been with a tranny before right?”

I put my glass of whiskey down. “What the hell are you on about?”

“I said they want to have a foursome with us. I mean, if you’re down with that. I’ve been with them before and they’re clean and they don’t hit you or anything dodgy like that.”

I looked at the couple before looking back at Natasha. I’m a writer. I should experience more things.

Natasha slapped my arm. “Oh my gosh, look at that look on your face! You didn’t think I was serious did you? They’re old high school friends. Far out, Dean. First, you wanted to watch snuff films with me and now this? You want a foursome? I told you I only like you as a friend!”

“I didn’t say shit!”

“But would you consider it?”

“Of course not.”

“Well,” she said, “you better change your mind because they’re coming now.”

Natasha wasn’t kidding. The couple arrived and introduced themselves to me. They seemed friendly enough but they eventually brought up the foursome, and when I’d change the subject they’d bring it up all over again. I was afraid but some part of me was curious to see how far they’d actually go. Plus I wanted to see Natasha naked.

We had one more drink before the guy brought us all upstairs to the room he checked into. It was a plain room: there was a TV and a few chairs and a kettle and a bed. Ever since high school I’ve been in countless situations where I’d think: I thought this only happens in the movies. This was one of those situations.

But then all of a sudden I had an image of myself as a grandfather, telling my grandchildren about my wonderful youth and deliberately censoring out the time I hooked up with a guy, a well-dressed transvestite and a girl I met online – all in one evening.

“Yeah you know what guys, I can’t do this.”

“What?” Natasha looked angry. “You can’t back out now and leave me here.”

“Well, come with me if you want.”

“Don’t fucking back out, Dean,” she said, looking irritated before calming herself and saying: “It’s fine. You’re fine. It’ll be fine. Don’t embarrass me like this.”

“Yeah I don’t think I can do this. Do you want to go?”

“You’re doing this.” She placed her hands on my hips and stood in front of the doorway. “It’s too late, you’re doing this. Trust me, it’s not as bad as it seems. You’ll be fine. Don’t be scared.”

“Listen, I’m going!” I pulled her hands away but she put them back on.

I pushed past her, but she grabbed my arm tightly. “You coward, Dean, you dirty coward! You think you’re so smooth and so high and mighty but you’re lonely and sad and you have no future. You better fucking stay or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!

I shoved her hard and she fell on her back. She winced. The other couple just stood there, eyeing each other without saying anything.

Natasha slowly stood up and gave me a pained, frightening look. Her face was completely red. Then she said something I didn’t understand: “We’re all slaves to something, Dean.”

“Whatever, psycho. I’m going, and it’s up to you if you want to go with me.” Natasha said nothing. I looked at the couple. “Sorry to lead you on, guys. Feel free to add me on Facebook or something.”

I drove home alone. I wanted to speed home dramatically, but there were way too many red lights. Instead I repeatedly changed the radio station, thinking about my life and thinking about what I should do about the past and what I should do about the future and what I should do about all the mess in between. I remember listening to a seminar by a motivational speaker once who said that no matter what situation we’re in, our world comes down to how we see it. While I waited for a light to turn green I figured that I could see my situation as either one of two things: depressing or funny. So I decided that from then on, it would be depressingly funny.



Generation End - Online Dating and Steve Carell

I’d always been suspicious of online dating. To me, online dating was one of those things you secretly did when you’ve completely run out of people to try and impress. Sort of like the first school dance you go to, when you go in expecting you can get anyone you want. When you realise you can’t, you start to lower your standards, little by little, until you finally resort to staring creepily at the strange looking kids in the dark shadows of the dance hall…

But I had a friend who loved online dating and he seemed to be doing okay. “Dean,” he kept saying, “you’ve got nothing to lose. Sign up to OkCupid. Online dating is a great thing, man. Write one message and just spam it out to every girl there. A few of them will reply, I guarantee you. I’m having my fourth date next week.”

I signed up to OkCupid. I changed my age, my name and put in a profile photo so vague that people wouldn’t be able to tell if I was male, female or something else completely. I then searched for girls who were the right age and lived in Brisbane and spammed the shit out of them.

A few weeks later I ended up having coffee with Natasha. She was half Korean half Scottish or something and, strangely enough, looked even better than she did in her photos.

“So,” she started. “Tell me about yourself.”


“No?” she giggled.

This was what I found out about her: she loves Haruki Murakami, she works for a university, her best friend cross dresses, she likes wearing black, she’s single because her long time ex-boyfriend cheated on her and she has a dog named Sunlight. We walked all over the place until we reached a bench in South Bank and sat down. “You’re really cool, Dean,” she said, “but I’m just looking for good friends right now.”

“Yeah, me too,” I lied.

“Well, to be honest, the guys I’m actually attracted to are guys who look like Steve Carell.”

“Steve Carell? That old guy from The 40 Year Old Virgin and The Office?”

“Yup,” she said. “I like calm looking middle-aged men.”

“Fuck, fair enough.”

“I’m sorry.” She looked over at the distance. “Hey, my car is over there. Want to come to my place?”


Her car was a battered pink Toyota with an expensive-looking GPS system inside. We sped to her place and ended up in her room. She pointed at a chair. “Sit there.”

“Okay.” I sat down.

We stared at each other for a while, her standing up and me sitting down. Eventually she said: “Have you heard of snuff films before?”

“They’re like, old school pornos right?”

“No, silly,” she laughed. “They’re films made for people who get off on people who have sex and then get murdered, possibly even tortured in between.”

I wondered what the hell she was getting at. “What the hell are you getting at?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Want to watch one together? I downloaded this really nasty one about tribal people and German soldiers the other night. I heard it’s great.”

I have nothing to lose. I’m a writer. I need to experience new things. I glanced at her car keys on her tabletop, then at her door. “Sure.”

“You sure you want to watch it?”

I hesitated, then: “Why not?”

“You sure? Some people in the film get… dismembered… and there’s a lot of screaming.”

“It’ll be tough,” I said. “But I’ll manage. It’s just a movie.”

“My friend told me that it could be real…”

“It can’t be real,” I said.

“It could be.”

“It can’t be,” I assured myself.

She glanced at my crotch, then back up at me. “Would you mind if I… touch myself during it?”

“No, no, that’s all fine.”

“You sure?”

I coughed a little. “Yeah, yeah, I said that’s fine.”

She rushed up to me and slapped my arm. “I can’t believe you’d be fine with that!”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You think I’m some kind of weirdo who’d be into snuff films and play with myself with some fucking stranger?”

“Well I don’t know,” I shrugged. “You look kind of goth.”


“Yeah, goth.”

“You’re such a dick.”

We stared at each other for a while until she sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. We ended up watching The 40 Year Old Virgin, drinking a lot of whiskey, talking about poor people, falling asleep in separate rooms.