THE VALEDICTORIAN SPEECH

By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2019

Warning: Attempted humour.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

RT

NICE GUY

Eric was a nice young man from a humble, hard-working family. They lived in a middle-class part of town. His dad worked in construction. His mom worked in retail at the mall. His sister Roxy was 16 and in high school. Eric was 18 and had just graduated high school. He thought of himself as 'normal' in just about every possible way: sports, hobbies, school, friends, girls, etc.

His family was not rich and that posed a challenge. Eric was smart and had been accepted into a prestigious university. The family's non-poverty circumstances precluded Eric's being awarded a scholarship. So, he needed some money to pay for his tuition and books, let alone residence.

"You could always give my sister a call," his mom jokingly said to him one day. "She always seems to be bragging about her successes in business. Maybe she could get you a job that pays good money." Eric's mom didn't really like her sister Nadine and was glad that she lived three thousand kilometres away. She did respect her sister's apparent business successes but didn't actually know what they were.

To Eric, Aunt Nadine was somewhat of a family mystery. He had always been fascinated by her vitality, exuberance, and flagrantly, brazenly zestful embrace of life and passion. And he now needed money and she might be able to provide it. He called her.

"Eric, no problem," Aunt Nadine cheerfully said. "There's a variety of different jobs that pay varying amounts. We'll decide upon one that is suitable for you and you can enjoy a debt-free first year at university!" Eric packed for the long bus trip to spend the summer at Aunt Nadine's.

FIRST SUMMER JOB

"How are you doing, sweetie? We're almost home." Aunt Nadine's voice punctured Eric's sleep. He struggled to sit up. He was shocked to see his Aunt drive in the direction of his house. "Where are we?" he asked. Nadine pulled the Audi over to the side of the road.

"Sweetie, look at me. Eric is a little, silly, pumpkin-alligator-toothpick-koala." She smiled.

Eric suddenly remembered his summer. It had been fantastic and exhilarating, demanding and rewarding. He knew he had made lots of money through hard work, worn industrial clothing, used a framing hammer, cut wood with a circular saw, and carried boxes and other heavy things hither and thither. He knew he had cleaned himself diligently each day after work and had shaved all his body hair off in order to minimize the risk of workplace accidents. He knew he had reveled and caroused many weekends and late nights with Aunt Nadine and her raucous circle of fun-loving, industrial worker friends.

He was a bit troubled that all of the details of his summer seemed, at best, vague and, at worst, ersatz, but he could not deny that he felt great!

They arrived. His Aunt did not attempt to go in. She waved and drove off as his mom came out the front door. "Why did you shave your head bald?" she asked.

"Workplace safety," he replied honestly and trod up to his room. He checked his on-line banking. He gasped: he had amassed just over $45,299 in three months! He soon recovered from his astonishment and paid his university bills.

He spent a few days helping his dad with house maintenance, his mom with housecleaning, and his sister Roxy with house partying, Eric felt rooted at home and refreshingly ready to start first year university. Even his hair was starting to grow back. He hadn't a care in the world.

FIRST SCHOOL YEAR

School started. He made friends fast, mainly because he was nice, likeable guy. He became known as a good friend to many. He also judiciously, subtly, evenly helped his less-wealthy friends: a coffee here, a snack there, $15 toward a needed textbook, and so on. His shoulders for crying and ears for listening were also valued. His common-sense advice was often heeded, and his sound, modern morals gave others a clear, sincere point of reference. Eric was someone they could rely on.

The best university experience a student can have is a debt-free one. Eric had no debts. He could and did focus on his courses. He studied (and helped tutor some of his friends). He had more time because he didn't need a part-time job. His past summer's job gave him this privilege, and he knew it. His marks were superb: Dean's Honours List. He felt truly grateful to his Aunt.

Toward the end of his first year, another student whom Eric knew slightly sat down in front of him at the usual cafeteria. Mitchell was a kind, caring, sensitive, gentle, delicate, young man; he hadn't a single evil atom in his body. "Eric, if I may please ask you a question."

"Go ahead, Mitch. What's up?"

"Eric, do you have a small beauty mark about two inches under your left nipple?" Mitch nervously covered his mouth with his pale, fragile, left hand.

Eric was surprised. He did have one exactly as described. He scrambled to think of where Mitch may have seen it and why he was asking about it. "That's a bit of a bizarre question, but to answer, yes, yes I do have one there, Mitch. What's up?"

Mitch's eyes brightened and he smiled warmly. "Gosh, I don't know what to say! I just truly admire you and think that you are wonderful!" Mitch quickly stood up, and raced away, giggling like a little schoolgirl who has just confessed a crush.

"What the hell was all that about," Eric wondered. Thus ended his first year at university.

Once back home, he raised the idea of again working with Aunt Nadine with his parents. They offered no objections; Eric had seemed perfectly happy and healthy after last summer. Maybe, Eric's mom thought, she had been unfairly judging her sister Nadine all these years.

"Eric, that's fantastic," Nadine gushed. "Another year means more experience and more money. I'll pay for your ticket and fly you out here. This is going to be the best summer ever!"

SECOND SUMMER JOB

"Eric, sweetie. Wake up! We're almost home. We're gonna land in 15 minutes!" Aunt Nadine's voice again punctured Eric's sleep. He struggled to sit up in his first-class cabin seat. He was shocked to see that he was wearing a three-piece pinstriped suit, a white dress shirt, cufflinks, a modern tie, a Rolex Submariner (stainless steel, black face, no date), and black Oxfords.

His Aunt looked at him, softly grabbed his lapels, and pulled him toward her. It would have been a sultry gesture except that she was his Aunt, so it, like, wasn't.

"You have so much to be proud of. Eric is a little, silly, juniperWestphalia -aardvark-asteroid." She laughed.

Eric suddenly remembered his second summer. It too had been fantastic and exhilarating, demanding and rewarding. He knew he had made lots of money through hard work, worn office clothing, used a calculator, made PERT and Gantt charts, prepared speeches about stuff, and set bland agenda for whatever meetings this day and that day. He knew he had cleaned himself diligently each day after work because of office air quality conditions and had shaved all his body hair off in order to minimize dry-cleaning costs. He knew he had soireed the reception circuit and had fraternized many worknights in smoke-filled, wood-panelled boardrooms with Aunt Nadine and her serious-minded executive and law firm partner friends.

Again, he was somewhat disturbed that the details of his summer experiences seemed weak and pale. But --- again --- he could not deny that he felt great!

At the airport, Aunt Nadine said her farewell. "I've got to make my connection to the Bahamas. There's a baccarat game I can't miss tonight at the Nassau Casino. Love you, Eric. Toodles!"

Eric's limousine arrived at the family home. Eric got out, regretting that he hadn't been more careful to avoid spilling the Taitinger on his pants. It was a small spot but nonetheless...

His dad was impressed. "At this rate, my boy," he beamed, "every top-notch business will want to hire you. You're doing us proud, son."

His mother moved closer to him and studied his face. "Have you been wearing eyeliner?"

Eric knew he had been wearing it. He answered her as honestly as he could. "Mom, a lot of trading on the exchange floor is done by eye contact. Raise an eyebrow. Wink. Double-blink. By wearing eyeliner, other traders could see me better, raise or lower prices, buy or sell, swap or short, more easily. It's a normal thing in most stock exchanges, eyeliner is. Eyeliner and eyebrows; all eye communication. Eye shadow too."

Up in his room, he turned on his laptop to check his banking. He collapsed on the floor: $348,261 and growing as he watched. Deposit after deposit. Two hundred and fifty dollars now. One hundred and forty-one dollars ten minutes later. He was absolutely flabbergasted. Just what had Aunt Nadine got him into this past summer? Was he really that successful wearing eyeliner on the trading floor selling swaps and shorting derivatives? That is, after all, what he knew he had done.

Feeling a bit disoriented, he quickly changed back into his regular jeans and sweats and went downstairs. For the next few days, he assisted his mom in her women's league rummage sale, assisted his dad in finally repairing that old '57 jalopy in the driveway, and assisted his sister Roxy in selling cookies for her soccer team. Spending time with them kept him grounded. He felt their love and reciprocated in kind.

He knew he would be ready for school again. Apart from a slight regret that his hair on his bald head wasn't growing back faster, Eric was uber-relaxed and mellow.

SECOND SCHOOL YEAR

Eric's second year was in many ways better than his first. He kept his old friends and made many more new ones. Three of his friends would have dropped out but for Eric's discreet financial assistance. "I'll pay you back," each of them said, but Eric would have none of it. He insisted that they consider his gift just that, a gift, no strings attached. Others he helped in other low-key ways.

His reputation grew campus wide. People saw true leadership and appreciated it. His volunteering and other charitable work gained the admiration of many. His humility and sympathetic manner were considered exemplary.

And with his soul and conscience clear and with his financial position secure, Eric could again focus on his studies. He made Dean's Honours List --- again.

That said, however, there were a few unusual moments during the year. Consider the following example.

Eric started dating a young philosophy student named Mei Ling. By the middle of their first date, they advanced from holding hands, to kissing, to petting, to mutual masturbation, to 69, to mish vaginal sex, and finally to 'anything goes' sex. Eric loved Mei's wanton sluttiness.

On their second date, Mei Ling tried to shove three fingers up Eric's bum as he was humping her. He moved her hand away. She moved it back. Away. Back, Away. Back. He finally moved himself away from her, and his rigidity faded to black. "Mei, what the fuck are you doing? I don't like that."

Mei Ling flashed her teeth, hissed, and spread her fingers like a cat ready to pounce. She screamed, "Come here, sissy boy! Let me fly the Red Dragon into your ass!" She lifted up a massive (red) dildo; attached to it was a strap-on belt. Eric fled.

But Mei Ling was not an isolated case. Not always a Red Dragon, just always something bizarre. Eric had no interest in wearing diapers (Cheryl), being a French maid (Vickie), wearing a corset (Allison), nor receiving enemas (Marylou). Eric fled them all.

Consider another example. Mitch kept sitting near him or next to him. Eric did not mind Mitch at all. Yet it struck Eric that Mitch seemed to shadow him almost everywhere. And Mitch also roped some of his equally soft and delicate friends into the Follow-Eric-Everywhere-Club. Eric sometimes felt a tiny bit irritated by their groupie-like presence (but only just a tiny bit because Eric had a good soul and was generous in understanding others).

Mitch covered his small Cupid's bow with his gentle, tender, right hand and gushed at Eric. "It's so admirable what you are doing. To be out there. To be seen. To be heard. It's your voice and your body and you are so proud of it. You're my hero!" Mitch giggled excitedly.

Eric was a bit puzzled. "It was just a 5 minute presentation to the history seminar on William the Conqueror. It was nothing that deserves any hero worship, Mitch."

Mitch giggled tremendously. "Oh, you slay me! Alright then, we'll just keep it our secret. I love secrets. And Tinkerbelle loves secrets too!" Mitch's last sentence was accompanied by his pointing at Eric.

Eric got up. "I really have to get going to my advanced calculus class." As he left the giggling Mitch behind, Eric wondered to himself what Mitch was so giddy about. And what the fuck was that Tinkerbelle shit?

School over, he went home.

His marks for second year were phenomenal. His parents thought the world of him. Stellar student. Ace friend. All round good fellow. Humble too. "You're the best of the best, young man," his dad said.

Eric checked his bank account. He had started second year with just over $360,000. It now contained a little over $829,241. He quietly paid off his parents' mortgage ("a bank sweepstakes" their banker told his parents). He bought his sister Roxy the cute, little, cherry red Mazda that she had wanted ("It's too dangerous for you to be taking the bus," he justified it to her).

It wasn't just family. A local drama group got some money for a summer production. Eleven kittens that were to be euthanized were given a reprieve because of Eric's small donation to the humane society. All (except the tiger-striped one) were later placed in new homes. These and others were the beneficiaries of Eric's sincere goodwill. Eric had well learnt the lesson that a little money could go a long way to help many.

Not long after finishing his second year, he called Aunt Nadine and expressed a desire to go back to work for a third summer.

"Eric, are you sure? I'd love to have you out here again. But, sweetie, remember there's more to life than work. You don't need the money. Why not enjoy a last summer before graduating by, say, touring the truffle fields in Europe or swimming with the dolphins in Mexico? Also, since you've done blue-collar and white-collar jobs here, perhaps there's not much more for you to do."

Eric detected a slight degree of reluctance in her voice, but he brushed the thought of it away. He answered with enthusiasm.

"I've done so well with you each summer, Aunt Nadine, that I really feel that I want to push myself as far as possible to see just how far I can go in business. There's still the executive levels in your companies, right?" Eric took confidence in his accomplishments the previous summers and in his standing at school. He could do it. He would do it. It was thus almost already done.

Nadine was so obliging. "Yes, executive levels, that's what we'll call them. Okay then: I'll give you every opportunity to go as far as you can in the time that we have, my beloved nephew."

THIRD SUMMER JOB

Several weeks later, Nadine jostled Eric awake in the Learjet. "Eric, it's wakey-wakey time. Eric is a little, silly, bubblegum-apple-zebra-polygon." She grinned.

Eric suddenly remembered his third summer. It had been awesome and inspiring, rewarding and spectacular. He knew he had made lots of money through crafty negotiations, had dressed in ballroom tuxedos as a matter of routine, used a conductor's baton, placed bids at auctions at Sotheby's, and drafted nuanced provisions in merger and acquisition documents. He knew that he had scrubbed himself clean to remove all of the toxic dust that plagued the city this past summer each day after work and that he had shaved all his body hair off in order to mitigate the effects of dry skin. He knew he had mingled gracefully many times with Aunt Nadine and her distinguished circle of witty, erudite friends.

Of course, all of his memories were just a bit vague. But he was past the point of worrying about that. He felt great!

He was dressed immaculately in a Hugo Boss designer suit. His brogues glistened. His Omega shone. His fedora covered his shiny, bald head. He got home and his parents were astonished by his magnificence.

"We're so immensely proud of you," his dad said. His mom's concern about the multiple piercing holes in his ears were allayed by Eric's honestly held explanation that these acupuncture holes mitigated the risk of brain cancer from cell phones. His mom seemed somewhat satisfied with that answer.

He sipped his Grand Marnier as he checked his bank account: $2,459,386 and growing. He put on his jeans, sweats, and runners. He cut the lawn for his dad, he did the washing for his mom, and he taught his sister Roxy basic calculus. Eric was a wonderful human being.

LAST SCHOOL YEAR

But school began awkwardly this third and final year. Most of his longtime friends seemed a bit distant. "Hi, sorry, I was kinda busy and forgot." That sort of distancing. "Oh yeah, sure, lunch next week sometime, maybe." That sort of stuff. Nothing blatant. Nothing obvious. Just a little drifting, easily coupled with a tad of avoidance. Eric sensed that his friends were dropping him. He did not know why.

It wasn't just his closer friends; it was acquaintances too. As an example, he offered Sara Collins (a ghastly woman) tutorial assistance for their Renaissance Italy course. She desperately needed it; she was profoundly stupid and immensely dumb. But she surprisingly rejected his kind offer. "Don't you dare touch my panties and bras, you fifi," she said, storming off.

He also soon found that he could not get a date. There was mostly, "I'm doing my hair that night." One girl declined his offer, saying she could not compete with his growing celebrity. "But it was just a picture in the neighbourhood newsletter of me handing the daycare centre a small cheque for $200 for their Valentine's Day party," he honestly countered hopelessly. The worst was the time another young lass told him, "It's really brave what you're doing, but I think you need professional help. Bye-bye." Eric had no idea what she was talking about.

And thus he one day found himself in the usual cafeteria contemplating life. His grades were excellent. Rumour had it he was going to be selected Valedictorian. Yet socially, well, most things had fallen apart this past year. He did not know why.

Mitch sat down with him. Mitch often just looked at him with some degree of amazement, hero worship. Eric was at his wit's end.

"Mitch, be honest with me. Why do people try to engage me in sex talk all the time? Why is it that every single girl I ask out wants to take a laser to my pubic hair or whip me on a cross?"

Mitch laughed. "Tinkerbelle!" he shouted gleefully.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Eric was slowly stewing and was at risk of possibly perhaps maybe blowing up and smashing Mitch's face inside out.

Mitch saw his reaction and cowered a bit. "Seriously? Are you shitting me?"

Eric stared at Mitch. "I have no fucking idea what you are talking about. And now I will kill you if you don't talk and tell me."

Mitch gulped and told Eric to calm down. "Eric, you are a dead ringer for the namesake star of a subscription porn website called 'Tinkerbelle Tranny' that started about three years ago. Most of the videos on that site have been illegally copied onto PornHub and all the other major porn sites. They're out there forever now. And the star of all the videos on that site looks like you. Exactly like you. Scary exactly like you.

"You do have a small birthmark high on the inside of your right thigh, right?" Mitch knowingly glanced at Eric's groin and smiled.

"What the fuck is the website's address?" Eric whispered in horror.

THE INDELICATE MEETING

"You fucking cunt!"

Eric raged at his Aunt. He had chartered the Airbus to take him to his Aunt's luxury island in the south Pacific. His separately transported Mercedes had raced to the cliff-top villa. The sun blazed off his Patek Phillipe as he stormed through her first living room and down the marbled hallway.

The maids stood silently in the shadows of the gilded hall.

Eric and Aunt Nadine stared at each other, he with anger, she with amusement. The Dom Perignon he brought her was perfectly chilled. They each held their Waterford crystal glasses at perfect waist height. The caviar and crisps lay on the silver platters.

"Oh, Eric, lighten up. So what? We put you under a wee bit of hypnosis, with some serious drugs in aid, from the moment you got here each year. Yes, we gave you bullshit memories about bullshit jobs that you never did.

Eric would not have it. "The first year you had me be a webcam solo sissy slut! I never asked for that."

Nadine brushed his concerns aside. "Look, you can't hypnotize someone into doing things that they don't really want to do, you know that, right?" He stared at her. She waved her hand and continued. "Or you could say that you established a name and a market for your looks. And 'SleazyBlondeNomad96' remains a great brand name. Just spin it, baby."

Eric fumed. "Aargh! SleazyBlondeNomad96 was shoving dildos in and out of her orifices all summer long! And I didn't even know it! And that crazy electric blue wig! And that disgusting violet mini-skirt? I looked like a prehistoric whore from a psychotic Barney dinosaur movie!"

Nadine smiled and answered: "The Red Dragon piece was a big hit too, especially in Japan. It's a cash cow! You cleaned up on the licensing rights to it. That's what I mean about multi-pronged marketing. Frankly, though, me and the crew didn't think you could take it all; you really surprised us that day." Her pride in her nephew was evident on her face.

Eric glared at her.

"The second summer was just straight babyfication, sissification, and feminization videos! I fucking hate diapers! How the fuck do I explain these sex scenes to my mom --- your sister? I've now eaten so much cunt and so many dildos that I can't stand the smell of salmon or trout or silicone! And what if my sister sees me in that yellow outfit with the saffron hair and the bonnet? I am so fucking ruined!"

Eric sat down and looked at her accusingly.

"And the third summer? The full-length movies? 'Caligula Goes to Sodom & Gomorrah'? 'The French Maid's Fetish Fantasies'? 'The Deepest Throat'? What were you thinking of? You're my Aunt!"

His face was filled with despair. Eric felt lost.

"I have to deliver my valedictorian speech tomorrow. Half of my friends have disowned me. The other half soon will. The Dean is trying to get me off the stage, I think. Everyone sneers at me. I'm never gonna get any sort of respectable job. My reputation is in tatters. My life is over."

Nadine tried humour and spritely said, "At least your tramp stamps always came off!" He looked at her aghast.

Nadine looked at her nephew. She did like him very much, in a healthy Aunt-nephew way. She had seen that he had had a financial problem and had taken measures to help him overcome it. She soothed her own soul, thinking of the many forms he had signed consenting to undergo anything she had arranged. True, she forgot he had signed them under her hypnosis.

But, anyway, she believed he now needed to learn a lesson and to grow up.

"Eric, look at me." He looked up at her. "Life is an exercise in discretion. You choose red or blue, or A or B, or left or right, or up or down. You then live with the consequences of your choice.

"Look, I chose left and I have this, this, this, and that. Your mother chose right and doesn't have this, this, this, nor that. You're just 21 for fuck's sakes. You flew down here on an extravagance, on a chartered plane. You could have phoned me or video-conferenced or something. But no, you chose a luxurious way to get here. You now have worldly choices that few others do."

She paused. She stroked her chin. She continued:

"Spend your wealth; you earned it. Enjoy life. Only you and I know the 'unknowingly' earned it aspect. Correct, you did not choose to earn it that way. But that's water under the bridge now! Let it go! Everyone else thinks Tinkerbelle is intentional, the real you, or part of you at least. And Tinkerbelle is a financial success. At 21."

She looked at him fondly.

"Eric, you can run from this or you can own it. You can expose me, have me arrested, and so on, and also distance yourself from SleazyBlondeNomad96, and you would certainly lose an aunt who loves you. Alternatively, you can seize, own it, and proclaim it. And you can explore the world and life through the lens of luxury and with a settled mind."

"What's done is done. Just, please, please, please, think about whether you want to control your life or to have it controlled by others. Think, Tinkerbelle, think." She chuckled at the last sentence. Eric stared daggers at her.

THE SPEECH

"I'm going to tell you why I am this university's valedictorian, and why you are not. How I could study at leisure for classes to get A pluses while you were sweating away in some shitty part-time job, not learning, and getting just Cs and Ds. Why I am graduating with a Mercedes in the parking lot and a Beamer in the garage, and why you take the bus. Why I am going to retire now, and why you are just starting to slave away at your pathetic proletarian life of the next four decades. Why I already have more money in the bank than any of you will ever earn in your lifetime.

"The salacious rumours about me are true. And if it took me a fuck, a bang, and a blow to get ahead on this planet, then so be it; I've got the biggest head start in history. I'm 21: envy me.

"To all of my so-called friends who have been laughing at me these past few months, go fuck yourselves. Never ask me for anything ever again. Don't expect anything from me either, except scorn, you wretched, poverty-fated scum.

"And you, Dean Dickhead, look at your socks. They have holes in them. You're a Dean for fuck's sakes; can't you afford a new pair of socks, you cheap, stupid bastard?"

And so Eric's speech went on. He proudly claimed his sissified, cum slut web identity, described it in detail, and then smeared it and his business acumen in people's faces. Why? Because he had the luxury of choice, of unfettered discretion. And because he was comfortable enough in his heterosexual skin to do so.

He closed by telling everyone to fuck off and die.

"Thank you," were his last words.

Silence ruled. His parents were mortified. The faculty was stunned. His fellow graduates sat there ashamed, emasculated, neutered, valueless, impoverished. They railed with despair at the truth, the prescience, of his prognostications and their dismal, inevitable, grim destinies. People recalled the speech years afterward, getting most of the details right because someone posted the entire video of it online and it had more than fifteen million views.

Roxy loved it.

She had always admired her big brother. A leader, a true leader. He was always there to show her the better way, the better path. He was so normal, a stand-up fellow, one of the best ever. Her shining star. Her heart raced. Her breath was short. Her body was electrified. And, because of his stirring speech, she knew how she could pay for university (and satisfy her teenage loins).

She hurried her phone out of her pocket.

"Hi! Aunt Nadine? It's Roxy! I'm going to university this year, desperately need money, am over 18, and was talking to Eric..."

END

By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2019