The lawyers’ comments about me were meant to persuade the judge to seal names of guarantors of Raniere’s proposed bail bond.
They want the names of people who would bail out Raniere to be kept from the public, the media and me in particular.
Raniere’s attorneys failed to note that when I said I wrote a fictional story about Vanguard, I announced it as fiction and when I photoshopped images of Raniere, I made it clear the images were not real photographs.
Here is sample fiction I wrote about Raniere – called “Night of the Vanguard.” I published this in July 2017 – a month or so after I broke the branding story – when I was the only one writing about NXIVM – as members were defecting from the cult daily.
At that time, the NY Times was just looking into the story. There was no one covering it. In fact, most media – if they read the blog at all – must have thought branding and collateral were fiction.
So to keep getting cult members to leave, I directed a little sarcasm toward Raniere – who was trying to hold his cult together and, when possible, brand a few more women.
The following excerpts are from a fictional story – told in the voice of Rosa – a fictional women Raniere seduces. I wanted to show how ridiculous his seduction approach was and how foolish the women who saw him as romantic appeared.
Here are a few excerpts of purple prose,
[This is fiction].
[Setting Rosa and Vanguard meet at a party at Nancy Salzman’s house. She sees him for the first time}
I was unable to control my reaction to his devastating maleness.
“Hi, I’m Vanguard.”
My tongue felt large and swollen in my dry, heated mouth. I became dizzy, all the blood leaving my head in a mad dash to my heart and other, lower places.
“Hi, I’m Rosa.”
… My heart was racing, my limbs mysteriously weak. I thanked God I was already sitting for I knew my legs were incapable of supporting me.
He said, “Let’s go for a walk.”
As I arose, he hugged me, pressing against me. Every muscle in my body tightened, clenching almost painfully in response to his heated flesh.
As we walked down Oregon Trail, a fine sheen broke out on his forehead and upper lip. My stomach continued churning from the near contact of his delectable body. I trembled uncontrollably. Goose bumps covered the column of my spine.
We stopped at an apartment that happened to be empty….
“I am a tantric master…” he said. Then he touched me with marvelous ingenuity; he caressed me with his wild manhood. His beauty struck my heart, then my loins. My thighs turned to mush.
He told me the lives of seven billion people hung in the balance. The welfare of the world depended on his teaching.
He lowered his head towards me, licking his hot, dry lips in preparation. I understood his intent and parted my lips, waiting breathlessly. Closer, his hot breath fanned my quivering lips. He could feel the stuttering, faltering beat of my heart against his own. My trembling increased, my fingers and toes tingled. My stomach roiled and sweat ran in rivulets down my forehead, burning my eyes.
“You are ruled by disintegrations. Do not let it make you a suppressive,” he said.
Vanguard brushed his lips across mine in a feather-like caress. A slow smile curved my luscious mouth. Then he pushed me back into the soft, buttery luxury of the leather couch…