perfection.
There was no one better than him. He knew everything about the era, about the clothing, and the styles.
She hammered it into his head as a child. His mother would dress in her long, blue poodle skirt, tie her hair in a ponytail clasped with a sheer blue scarf, then play the old forty-fives over and over again, forcing him to dance until she was practically holding him up.
Then she would drink in between and abuse him.
He hated her so.
He hated how she would act so innocent, so proper with family and friends, then act disgusting when her men callers came. He would get locked in the bedroom, but he still heard the acts through the walls.
She was nothing. Just a slut, a whore, and so were these women.
They were playing a role—pretending to be so innocent and shy, but he knew better. He knew the truth, and forced them to reveal their true identities. They would play his games, sing with him, dance with him, and willingly participate.
The thoughts caused his body to react. He could feel the desire, the need for another victim to fulfill and satisfy every sensation that flowed through his body.
Tonight, he would head up north.
He took one last look at his treasures, then carefully folded the red velvet. Tying the light blue sheer scarf over it, he carried it to his bedroom. He needed to pack a small bag, just a few things to stay at his little hideaway up north.
He dropped the keys to his special place on the floor. His fingers, his body, already shook with anticipation and excitement.
A silly giggle escaped his lips, as he looked in the mirror, wanting to record every moment from commencement to conclusion.
He was handsome and young, in need of a shave, but young women seemed to be attracted to the rough, tough, edgy style of the look.
The weather was much too warm for a leather jacket, and he knew his body was what immediately caught the attention of his victims. He carefully rolled the t-shirt up, causing his already bulging muscles to look more defined but slightly hidden.
The waist of his blue jeans hugged his hips, showing off the indentation below each hipbone, then the perfect, rounded ridges of his muscular belly. He admired himself in the mirror.
He ran his fingers through his black hair that was a little long in the front. He had a special way of letting a few black locks brush over his deep jade green eyes, just so, as he flirted.
His teeth were perfectly white, which he admired with an approving smile.
Tonight was as perfect a time as any. It would take him a good thirty-five minutes to get up north. He could be in the parking lot of the Twist and Shout nightclub and restaurant by 8:00 p.m.
Reminding himself he just needed one last thing, he pulled some money from the drawer and made a quick phone call to his supplier. He needed Liquid X, and he needed it fast.
Planning in his mind to make the short stop on his way, anticipation flowed through his body. Tonight, he would be with victim number four. For a moment, he felt nervous about getting the drugs. He remembered the one time he got busted, and winced. The repercussions would be devastating if he were to get caught tonight. Recalling the narrow escape he had a year back, perspiration moistened his brow. Thanks to a good lawyer, he got off with two days in jail and attending a drug program. Being the optimistic person that he is, he saw a positive in the whole ordeal.
That's how he became more educated on the numerous names for the date rape drug, and its success of being undetected.
Not wanting to take any unnecessary chances and risk getting caught, he would make sure to get enough of a supply this time. He had his fantasies to fulfill and some new ideas emerged during the last week. Just maybe he was in the market for something a little different.
He wanted a challenge, a fight, and a struggle. It turned him on. He wanted it, and that was precisely what he would get, tonight.
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Chapter 6
Ken Murphy
There was no one better than him. He knew everything about the era, about the clothing, and the styles.
She hammered it into his head as a child. His mother would dress in her long, blue poodle skirt, tie her hair in a ponytail clasped with a sheer blue scarf, then play the old forty-fives over and over again, forcing him to dance until she was practically holding him up.
Then she would drink in between and abuse him.
He hated her so.
He hated how she would act so innocent, so proper with family and friends, then act disgusting when her men callers came. He would get locked in the bedroom, but he still heard the acts through the walls.
She was nothing. Just a slut, a whore, and so were these women.
They were playing a role—pretending to be so innocent and shy, but he knew better. He knew the truth, and forced them to reveal their true identities. They would play his games, sing with him, dance with him, and willingly participate.
The thoughts caused his body to react. He could feel the desire, the need for another victim to fulfill and satisfy every sensation that flowed through his body.
Tonight, he would head up north.
He took one last look at his treasures, then carefully folded the red velvet. Tying the light blue sheer scarf over it, he carried it to his bedroom. He needed to pack a small bag, just a few things to stay at his little hideaway up north.
He dropped the keys to his special place on the floor. His fingers, his body, already shook with anticipation and excitement.
A silly giggle escaped his lips, as he looked in the mirror, wanting to record every moment from commencement to conclusion.
He was handsome and young, in need of a shave, but young women seemed to be attracted to the rough, tough, edgy style of the look.
The weather was much too warm for a leather jacket, and he knew his body was what immediately caught the attention of his victims. He carefully rolled the t-shirt up, causing his already bulging muscles to look more defined but slightly hidden.
The waist of his blue jeans hugged his hips, showing off the indentation below each hipbone, then the perfect, rounded ridges of his muscular belly. He admired himself in the mirror.
He ran his fingers through his black hair that was a little long in the front. He had a special way of letting a few black locks brush over his deep jade green eyes, just so, as he flirted.
His teeth were perfectly white, which he admired with an approving smile.
Tonight was as perfect a time as any. It would take him a good thirty-five minutes to get up north. He could be in the parking lot of the Twist and Shout nightclub and restaurant by 8:00 p.m.
Reminding himself he just needed one last thing, he pulled some money from the drawer and made a quick phone call to his supplier. He needed Liquid X, and he needed it fast.
Planning in his mind to make the short stop on his way, anticipation flowed through his body. Tonight, he would be with victim number four. For a moment, he felt nervous about getting the drugs. He remembered the one time he got busted, and winced. The repercussions would be devastating if he were to get caught tonight. Recalling the narrow escape he had a year back, perspiration moistened his brow. Thanks to a good lawyer, he got off with two days in jail and attending a drug program. Being the optimistic person that he is, he saw a positive in the whole ordeal.
That's how he became more educated on the numerous names for the date rape drug, and its success of being undetected.
Not wanting to take any unnecessary chances and risk getting caught, he would make sure to get enough of a supply this time. He had his fantasies to fulfill and some new ideas emerged during the last week. Just maybe he was in the market for something a little different.
He wanted a challenge, a fight, and a struggle. It turned him on. He wanted it, and that was precisely what he would get, tonight.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 6
Ken Murphy
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