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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.
This is the second installment of "Don't Talk to Strangers," and it's a tale that I call, "Barbie the Bitch."
A pretty face don't make no pretty heart,
I learned that, buddy, from the start!
You think I'm cute, a little bit shy?
Momma, I ain't that kind of guy!
Doctor, doctor, give me the news,
I got a bad case of loving you!
No pill's gonna cure my ill,
I got a bad case of loving you!
-- Bad Case of Loving You (Robert Palmer)
I actually attended college for a couple of semesters. I wanted to study psychology to figure out why I was so different from other people. I took the simple "101" level courses to find out the more appropriate courses for the next semester, and then attempted to take courses that allowed me to "study myself."
Getting in and out of classes was easy. Despite the costs of college, it's easy to simply audit courses, especially those that are in the big lecture halls. The big tuition bills are for people that require a piece of paper that says that they're pretty smart people. I don't know. Paying so much money for that silly piece of paper doesn't seem all that smart to me.
Anyway, people never give me a second look unless I turn on the charm. I must emit some sort of "keep away" signal that the mind interprets that tells most people not to fuck with me. Even campus security gave me a wide berth. People that do notice me are the girls that would eventually wish that they hadn't.
I anticipated that those eight or nine months would more or less be a dry spell for me, sexually. I mean, I could have had any girl that I wanted, but my usual style is to take one, use her until there's nothing more to take, and then move on. Staying in one location for an extended period of time made my usual operation difficult. I figured that I would just turn off the charm, except for special occasions (hey... I'm not a monk!).
After destroying scores of lives, the same old thing sort of grows on you.
I found out almost immediately that taking a college coed was way too easy. All the guys on campus knew it and did so, and none had my talents. It's common knowledge that you could promise a girl some beer, a joint, or even chocolate and most of them would drop to their knees with your dick in their mouths faster than President Bush could declare war in the middle east. The girls figured they were sowing wild oats. I call it "learning to be a cunt."
I've never credited females with having brains, and coeds were living proof of that fact.
I am indeed a sociopath, I found out. I had only suspected this before, but now, studying these books, it was quite obvious. I was also classified as a misogynist, but I preferred the term "realist." I knew females for what they really are: warm buckets to accept my semen--nothing more and nothing less.
I think the term misogynist was invented by a feminist, which would be a pretty funny joke. In reality, I have found that feminists are more female-hating than I ever would be. I mean, telling females that they are the equals of the opposite sex is just uselessly getting their hopes up. It's cruel and it's females hurting females. How stupid is that? I'm not against girls physically abusing one another, by the way, but I had done so in the privacy of an apartment or hotel room. Feminists do it publicly. They should be shot!
As I said, females are so fucking stupid, it's pitiful. It just makes it easier for people like me to pick them up, fuck their brains out, and turn them into sex addicts for the rest of their lives.
As a sociopath, I don't live by any rules other than my own. For the most part, society stays away from me, and I stay away from society, except when I feel the hunger for a girl. Usually even then, it's the girl that seeks me out.
So why was I becoming a part of society, attending college? Curiosity, perhaps. Maybe a need to understand myself, but I found that I had no secrets from myself. I knew what I was, and how I worked. I admit that I'm a monster, the kind of person that could be your worst nightmare. I did not lie to myself, like those feminists did. I am brutally honest and frank about myself.
Did I hate myself? Of course not. Hating myself would mean that I actually thought that the things that I do are morally wrong. That's definitely not the case! I did consider myself a monster, but I thought that to mean that I was different in a way that most people would find alarming.
I thought taking the courses would explain to me why I did the things I do, and they didn't. It took me close to two semesters to realize that it was all gobbledygook. Nobody had a fucking clue as to why some people were sociopaths, other than to suggest that something was wrong with the wiring of their brains. That was pure, unadulterated bullshit. I figured that the only thing different about me was that I saw things differently. Reality and truth had different meanings for me than it did for most people. That didn't change the truthfulness of my reality, though. It all comes down to perspective.
As I made my discovery, I found myself in a lecture hall, shaking my head in disgust. This had all been a fucking waste of time!
"Mr. Frees, I'd like to speak with you after class."
I looked up. I had used the name Frees while in college. It wasn't my real name, and I wasn't even on the lists of students that were supposed to be in the class. I think I used that name for something or other in the bookstore when I had some dumb cunt purchase me the "abnormal psych" book in pristine condition for me.
I will admit here, parenthetically, that some females have money. They can be useful that way, too. I hereby state for the record that I also did fuck that coed hard and long all that night, in the living area of her sorority, in all three holes, and I made sure she was very vocal in her appreciation of me. She was therefore useful the normal way as well.
Back at the lecture hall, I had to admit that I had no idea how this professor found out my name.
The entire class was silent. This professor normally did not direct her attention to any student unless a student made an appointment to meet with her during her office hours.
"Are you talking to me?" I asked, refusing to be cowed in front of a bunch of mere students, especially by a female.
"Yes, Mr. Frees. Make an appointment to meet with me today." The professor then turned away from me and resumed her discussion.
A couple of things were obvious to me. The professor had an interest in me. Sure, I was one of the older students in the class, and I never did any of the assignments. As I said, I simply audited the course, and didn't even attend all the lectures. I wondered why the professor wanted to talk with me.
I shrugged. I knew that people don't normally fuck with me, but if the professor wanted to see me, it would be my duty to make sure she wouldn't forget me. I got up, picked up my stuff, and loudly walked out of the lecture, making sure the door closed noisily. I proceeded directly to the professor's office. Her receptionist looked up at me.
"Dr. Finella wants me to schedule an appointment for today."
The receptionist frowned. "I don't think she has any openings for you today..."
"She has a minimum of three openings that I might be interested in. However, I just want you to schedule me, Mr. Frees, as her last appointment at four o'clock today. Cancel any appointments of hers that might follow it, since she will be quite busy."
The receptionist simply nodded and did as I requested.
I loved it when people just shut up and did what I said. It made life so easy. At least, the girl knew her place.
I smiled as I left the office. I had a few hours to waste, so I went to the library and started reading portions of "120 Days of Sodom." After all, I hadn't really been enjoying myself as much as I usually do, and I figured that I could use the advice from an expert.
As people passed me, a few noticed my reading material. When I encountered a girl that audibly gasped in recognition of the author, I made her take her place under the reading table, giving Oscar some appreciative licks.
Nobody, not even the head librarian, made any comment about the sexual activity going on beneath my table. As I said, most people just don't fuck with me.
I didn't let Oscar shoot off. I just had the girls that were bathing him keep his attention riveted.
I was partway through the fourth day of Sodom when my watch alarm went off. I got up, told the three coeds that were under the table, loudly, that they could get up and get dressed, and wandered in the direction of the professor's office.
.... There is more of this story ...