The Chosen Pervert

Chapter 1: The Last Roll

"Sir Reginald, you magnificent bastard, cast the f*****g fireball already!"

I grinned at my monitor, fingers hovering over my mechanical keyboard. The Discord voice chat crackled with the impatient voices of my party—DarkKnight88, PussySlayer420, and our DM, CriticalFail. We'd been at this boss fight for two hours, and my battle mage was the only thing standing between victory and a total party wipe.

"Patience, gentlemen," I said, affecting my best pompous British accent. "Sir Reginald does not simply cast fireball. He orchestrates devastation."

"Dude, I swear to God—" DarkKnight88 started.

"Roll for initiative, you f*****g nerd," PussySlayer420 interrupted. "My barbarian's got three hit points left and this lich is about to skull-f**k us into oblivion."

I loved these guys. We'd never met in person—hell, I didn't even know their real names—but every Saturday night for the past six years, we'd gathered in this digital space to roll dice and talk s**t. It was the highlight of my week. Maybe my life, if I was being honest.

"Fine, fine." I clicked through my character sheet on D&D Beyond, my eyes scanning Sir Reginald's spell slots. Level 18 Evocation Wizard, specialized in blowing s**t up. "I'm casting Meteor Swarm at 9th level. That's forty d6 fire damage, you undead piece of shit."

"FINALLY!" DarkKnight88 shouted.

CriticalFail's voice came through, calm and measured like always. "Alright, roll for damage. The lich is going to make its saving throw... and it fails. Go ahead."

I grabbed my phone, opened my dice roller app, and started tapping. Forty f*****g dice. The numbers cascaded across my screen: 3, 5, 6, 2, 4, 6, 6, 1... I added them up as they came, my heart actually racing a little. This was it. This was the moment.

"One hundred and forty-seven points of fire damage," I announced.

Silence.

Then: "HOLY s**t!"

"YOU f*****g LEGEND!"

"SIR REGINALD, YOU BEAUTIFUL WIZARD BASTARD!"

CriticalFail laughed. "The lich's robes ignite, its phylactery shatters, and it lets out one final scream before collapsing into ash. You guys win. Congratulations, you've cleared the Tomb of Eternal Darkness."

We erupted into cheers, whoops, and a cacophony of victory noises that would've been embarrassing if anyone else could hear us. But down here in my basement, in my kingdom of empty Monster cans, pizza boxes, and c*m-stained tissues, I was free to be exactly who I was.

"Alright boys, that's a wrap for tonight," CriticalFail said after we'd calmed down. "Same time next week?"

"Hell yeah."

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Sir Reginald will be there," I said, still grinning.

"Hey, before we go," PussySlayer420 said, his voice taking on that conspiratorial tone he always used before saying something crude. "Anyone else jerk off before the session, or was it just me?"

"Dude, what the f**k?" DarkKnight88 laughed.

"What? I'm just saying, post-nut clarity helps with tactical decisions."

"You're disgusting," I said, though I was laughing too. "But yeah, obviously. Twice, actually."

"My man!" PussySlayer420 said. "What were you watching?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Bet it was some weird hentai shit."

"f**k off," I said, still grinning. "It was artistic hentai shit."

More laughter, more s**t-talking, and then one by one they logged off. DarkKnight88 first, then PussySlayer420, and finally CriticalFail with his usual, "Stay safe out there, nerds."

And then it was just me.

Just me and the blue glow of my monitor in the darkness of my basement.

I leaned back in my chair—a gaming chair I'd bought three years ago that now had a permanent ass-groove and mysterious stains—and stretched. My back cracked. My neck cracked. Everything cracked. I was thirty-five years old and I felt like I was sixty.

The D&D Beyond tab was still open, showing Sir Reginald's character sheet in all its glory. Level 18. Powerful. Respected. Everything I wasn't.

I closed the tab.

And opened the one I'd minimized two hours ago.

The video was still paused where I'd left it: a fox-girl with enormous t**s and a tail getting railed by some muscular fantasy warrior. The title was something like "Foxy Slut Gets Bred in the Forest" and it was exactly the kind of degenerate s**t I'd been into lately.

I didn't even hesitate. My hand was already moving to my belt.

Look, I'm not proud of who I am. I know I'm a f*****g loser. I know I'm a waste of space, a thirty-five-year-old man living in his mother's basement, surviving on energy drinks and pizza, jerking off to cartoon animals with t**s. I know all of this.

But in this moment, with my pants around my ankles and my d**k in my hand, I didn't care.

The video resumed. The fox-girl moaned—that exaggerated, porny moan that no real woman ever makes—and I watched as the warrior grabbed her tail and pulled. The animation was surprisingly good, fluid and detailed. Her ears twitched. Her eyes rolled back.

I stroked faster.

There was something about furry porn that just did it for me. Maybe it was the fantasy element, the impossibility of it. Maybe it was because I'd spent so much of my life obsessing over fantasy worlds that the lines had blurred. Or maybe I was just a f*****g degenerate.

Probably that last one.

The fox-girl was on all fours now, her tail wrapped around the warrior's waist, and I could feel myself getting close. My breathing got heavier. My grip tightened. The chair creaked beneath me.

"f**k," I muttered. "f**k, f**k, f**k—"

And then I came, shooting into the tissue I'd grabbed from the box on my desk—a box that was always within arm's reach because of course it was. I sat there for a moment, panting, staring at the screen as the video continued without me.

Post-nut clarity hit like a freight train.

I looked around my basement. Really looked at it. The walls were covered in anime posters and fantasy art. My desk was a disaster zone of cables, empty cans, and crumpled tissues. My bed—unmade, sheets unchanged for God knows how long—was shoved in the corner. The air smelled like sweat and stale pizza.

This was my life.

Thirty-five years old and this was my f*****g life.

I closed the porn tab and stared at my browser. Twelve tabs open. Half of them porn. The other half D&D wikis and character optimization forums.

A little voice in the back of my head whispered: Clear your browser history.

I moved my cursor to the menu, hovered over "Clear browsing data."

But then I stopped.

Why bother? Who was going to see it? My mom never came down here. She'd given up on me years ago. And it wasn't like I was expecting company.

I closed the browser without clearing anything.

"f**k it," I said to the empty room.

My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten since... when? Yesterday? I'd had some leftover pizza for breakfast, I think. Or was that two days ago?

I needed an energy drink. Specifically, I needed a Monster Ultra Sunrise. The orange one. It was the only thing that tasted right anymore.

I heaved myself out of my chair—God, when did standing up become such an effort?—and made my way to the stairs. Each step creaked under my weight. I'd put on a lot of pounds over the years. Probably close to two-fifty now, though I hadn't weighed myself in a while.

The basement stairs led up to the kitchen, and as I emerged into the fluorescent light, I had to squint. It was bright up here. Too bright. The kitchen was clean—my mom kept it that way—and it smelled like whatever she'd cooked for dinner. Something with garlic.

I went straight to the fridge and opened it.

No Monster Ultra Sunrise.

I stared at the shelves, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing. There were energy drinks, sure. But they were the wrong ones. Monster Ultra Paradise. The green one.

"What the f**k?" I muttered.

"I bought what was on sale," my mom's voice said from behind me.

I turned. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at me with that expression she always had now. Tired. Disappointed. Done.

"I asked for Ultra Sunrise," I said. "The orange one."

"They didn't have it."

"So you bought the wrong one?"

"It's the same thing."

"It's not the same thing!" I could hear my voice rising, but I couldn't stop it. "They taste completely different! How hard is it to get the right one?"

My mom's expression hardened. "You're thirty-five years old. If you want a specific flavor, you can go get it yourself."

"I would if you'd stop buying the wrong s**t!"

"Then go!" she shouted, and I actually flinched. My mom never shouted. "Go get your own f*****g drinks! Go get your own food! Better yet, go get a job and move out of my house!"

The words hung in the air between us.

I felt my face getting hot. My hands clenched into fists.

"Fine," I said. "Fine, I'll go get it myself."

I grabbed my coat from the hook by the door—a ratty black hoodie that I'd owned since college—and shoved my arms through the sleeves. My wallet was in the pocket. My keys were... somewhere. I didn't need them. I wasn't driving anywhere.

"Don't bother coming back," my mom said quietly.

I didn't respond. I just opened the door and walked out, slamming it behind me.

The heat hit me immediately.

It was mid-summer in New York City, and the air was thick and humid, like breathing through a wet towel. The sun was still up—barely—and the streets were packed with people. Tourists, mostly, wandering around with their cameras and their stupid smiles.

I hated all of them.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking. The convenience store was three blocks away. I'd walked this route a thousand times, though not recently. Lately, I'd been relying on my mom to do the shopping. Or delivery. Mostly delivery.

But now I was out here, in the real world, and I f*****g hated it.

People kept bumping into me. A woman with a stroller. A guy on his phone. A group of teenagers laughing about something. I wanted to shove them all into traffic.

Pay attention, that little voice in my head whispered.

I ignored it.

My shirt was already sticking to my back. I could feel sweat pooling under my man-boobs, in the folds of my stomach. My glasses kept sliding down my nose. I pushed them up, but they just slid down again.

God, I was disgusting.

I caught my reflection in a*****e window and immediately looked away. Greasy hair. Oily skin. Pimples on my forehead and chin. Pale as a f*****g ghost because I never went outside.

This was what I'd become.

You should have cleared your browser history, the voice whispered again.

"Shut up," I muttered.

A woman walking past me gave me a weird look. Great. Now I was talking to myself.

The convenience store was just ahead, its neon sign flickering in the fading daylight. I pushed through the door, relishing the blast of air conditioning, and made my way to the cooler in the back.

There. Monster Ultra Sunrise. The orange one.

I grabbed two cans—f**k it, might as well stock up—and headed to the counter. The cashier was some kid, maybe nineteen, scrolling through his phone. He barely looked at me as he rang me up.

"Seven fifty," he said.

I handed him a ten, took my change, and left.

Back out into the heat.

Back into the crowd.

Something's wrong, the voice said. Pay attention.

But I didn't. I just walked, my eyes on the sidewalk, my mind already back in my basement. I'd drink one of these Monsters, maybe boot up a game. Or watch more porn. Or both.

I was halfway back to my mom's house when I heard it.

A sound like metal scraping against metal.

I looked up.

And saw the construction beam falling.

It was almost beautiful, in a way. The way it tumbled through the air, end over end, catching the light of the setting sun. It seemed to fall in slow motion, even though I knew it wasn't.

I didn't have time to move.

I didn't even have time to scream.

The beam hit me square in the chest, and I felt my ribs shatter. The impact drove me to the ground, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stare up at the sky as people started screaming around me.

There was blood. So much blood. I could taste it in my mouth, feel it pooling beneath me.

This is it, I thought. This is how I die.

Not in some heroic battle. Not saving someone. Not doing anything meaningful.

Just... randomly. A freak accident. A construction beam falling from a building.

My vision was getting dark around the edges. I could hear sirens in the distance, but they sounded so far away.

And as the darkness closed in, as I felt myself slipping away, one final thought crossed my mind:

Fuck... I should have cleared my browser history.

Then there was nothing.