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The following is a work of fiction and is just a fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is definitely beyond the boundaries of reason.
This is a story that describes some sexually explicit situations in a fictional universe that only vaguely seems to be similar to the real universe. The target audience is adults (people over the age of eighteen) with broad minds.
Yet Another Note From The Author:
This is another of my stories that I wrote a while back. I had written the first half (about five hundred lines), and sent them to a friend, asking his opinion, since the style is such a departure from my other stories. He informed me that the genre that I was writing was called Mind Control, and he pointed me to a web site where many such stories were kept.
Since then, I have written many other stories, trying to play within and without that genre. However, this story continued to beckon to me, mostly because the main character in it is so unlike any other characters that I tend to write about. I really felt like this story needed to be completed.
I added another hundred lines or so late last year, and abandoned it again, this time for more personal reasons unrelated to the story. Finally, this past holiday weekend, I decided to hunker down and complete the story. I truly believe that I did the story justice.
The girls come from many places. I really don't care, actually. But once they are with me, they move with me, wherever I decide to go. I move often, never staying too long anywhere. The girls, once they find me, are mine... until, of course, I've had enough of them. Then I discard them without even looking back. I figure, let the bitches figure out how to put their pathetic little lives back together in a strange place. Serves each one of them right.
Their mommies should have told them not to talk to strangers.
I could describe myself in a few paragraphs, but I'm not really about to do so with any detail. For one thing, I'm not about to let people know who I am. For another, any description of me will eventually come down to three words, which are easier for me to write: I'm a monster.
I'm not particularly good looking. I'm not terrible looking. I'm mostly nondescript. If you saw me in a mall, you wouldn't give me a second look. Unless...
I do not give out any monstrous aura. Actually, I think I might actually give out some sort of aura that tells people that I'm not a bad guy. That's right... even my aura will lie to you!
I have a taste for pretty females. But I don't seek them out... they seek me out. Somehow, like a bee to a gladiola, they find me.
They would probably spend the rest of their lives regretting having found me, if they were to remember me. But they don't. I have no idea what happens when I kick them out, actually.
So... what's a monster like me doing writing a story about himself? Well, for starters, I want to tell somebody. People probably won't believe me, but I'll still have gotten it off my chest. After all, this is fiction, right? Yup. That's the ticket!
But I would also like to say that I could be much more of a monster than I actually am. For one thing, I could prey on kids. I don't. In fact, when I hear about those children that are kidnapped at gunpoint, abducted from their front yards, and all those other things you hear about in the newspapers nowadays, it almost makes me want to seek out those sick bastards and kill them.
I said "almost." I don't. I deplore violence, actually. Well, mostly.
I just wanted to point out that there are REALLY sick individuals out there. I don't go hunting for my prey like they do. I simply allow my "victims" to find me. Let the police get the really sick people. The police will never find me... and even if they did suspect me (which I seriously doubt), there is little that I do that is actually illegal.
I consider any female over the age of sixteen to be an adult. In most states, that's the age of consent. Not like the legality would bother me, but again, I have my principles. If a girl is seventeen or older, she's fair prey, as far as I'm concerned. I don't bother the younger ones. I have no need.
The closest that I came to endangering the life of a minor was having a mother seek me out while she had her young daughter with her in a store. She probably would have forgotten about her kid when she went seeking me out. I actually went out of my way to drive the daughter home, leaving her with no memories of how she got there or what happened to her mother. Of course, I don't think her mother ever returned, so the daughter probably was motherless for the rest of her life. Tough shit. I did my good deed. And I didn't personally hurt the kid.
As I said, I'm a monster. But I do have my standards.
I've studied enough psychology to know that I'd be classified as a sociopath. That's just a label and conveys very little as to who the real me is. I prefer the term "monster." It's what I am. I don't pretend to be a nice guy.
I hate night clubs. They are too noisy. They're usually too smoky. The people that frequent them sometimes make a monster like me look like a saint.
However, I sometimes do go by them. It's a good place for people to find me, you know. Girls that have had too much to drink, and who have gotten fondled just one time too many and tell their boyfriends to take a walk can usually be found there.
And that, of course, is how Kara met me.
I was walking on a sidewalk outside the parking lot of a club named Rascals. Even from the street, I could hear the THUMP THUMP THUMP of the music. The parking lot looked like it was near capacity. It was a Friday night.
I was between girls that night. My last one had used up whatever bit of sexuality that she had left, and I had told her to get lost. As I said, I don't care where they go. They are adults, and are supposedly able to look after themselves. The girl had entered my life just to be used up like a sheet of toilet paper. And just like toilet paper, I had no need to keep it around once it's used.
Anyway, the doors to the night club burst open, and a rather pissed off lady emerged. She was followed by what I assumed was her boyfriend, who was being held back by the bouncers, apparently in an attempt to keep her from getting harmed. Of course, the bouncers never even considered that the guy walking past the club smoking a cigarette might actually be a danger to the woman.
Anyway, the boyfriend managed to get out of the club, and went to the girl. She turned on him, shouting invective at him. She was going to go home by herself... she'd find a taxi. And if she ever heard from him again, she'd have a restraining order against him.
I actually chuckled hearing that. The girl had spirit. She might last more than a couple of weeks.
After about five minutes, the guy finally threw his hands up. "Fine. Get your own ride home!" he shouted at her. He turned and looked for his car. In another minute or so, he found it, started it up, gunned the engine, and finally took off.
The girl was still close enough to the entrance that the bouncer asked if she needed to call a taxi. She was still angry enough not to be thinking and turned him down. Apparently, she was angry at the entire male race: she called the bouncer a few choice names.
By this time, of course, I was about a block away. If the girl didn't find me, and there was never any guarantee that she would, I'd find a laundromat or some other place where somebody would be interested in striking up a conversation with me.
It took the woman a few minutes before she realized that she had no transportation, and she had insulted the bouncer that would have called a taxi for her free. He might even have paid the taxi fare!
She looked around, mentally calculating the distance to her apartment, the cost of cab fare, whether or not there was bus service that could help. For some reason, she drifted off in one direction--the same direction that I had taken, of course.
I didn't even have to look back. I just knew what was happening. I slowed my pace even more to allow her to almost catch up with me. I spied a laundromat a couple of blocks down, which, as I said before, would have made a good place to make a catch. A smile went to my lips. Fate was smiling at me! Between where I was and the laundromat was a bar. I could make out the Budweiser sign in the dark window. I knew this place; it was a gay bar. A great place for the pickup!
The girl was nearly caught up to me when I turned into the gay bar. A few people looked at me as I entered, and all of them didn't see anything they were interested in. As I said, it's mostly girls--heterosexual ones, actually--that were interested in me. There were very few of them in there. Homosexual males were never attracted to me.
I found a couple of empty stools at the bar, and took one, leaving the one to my right vacant. I'm a bit conceited; I really think that my right side is my best one, and I wanted to look my best.
.... There is more of this story ...