Foreword

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.

Kara

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.

On cue, the girl that was following me entered the bar. Once again, a few people looked up, but this time there was some interest. The girl seemed a bit nervous that all the attention she was getting seemed to be coming from the female gender. She apparently didn't know the nature of this bar.

She ignored the stares and quickly found where I had sat. I was drinking a vodka tonic with a lime. She went to the seat next to me, just as I had expected.

The girl was actually quite safe where she sat. As I said, I do not attract attention from homosexual females. As a matter of fact, I seem to repel them a bit. Any one approaching her would find themselves thinking other thoughts when they caught sight of me.

"Excuse me, mister?" the girl said.

"Huh?" I said, pretending to notice her for the first time.

"Could you give me some money for a pay phone?"

I looked at the girl. "Sure," I answered. "Let me buy you a drink first. You look like you could use one."

"No thanks, really," she said, not wanting to increase her indebtedness to me.

"My pleasure, miss."

I signaled the bartender, and asked the girl what she wanted. She looked at me and finally said, "Merlot?"

I nodded my head to the bartender, and indicated that it would be on my tab. He got a bottle from behind him, and poured a glass.

"We don't get many like you two," the bartender said as he gave the glass to the girl.

"I can imagine," I said, twinkling my eye at the bartender.

The bartender realized that I knew the nature of the bar, and simply shrugged. He had just wanted to avoid the kind of scene that would happen when straight people inadvertently came in. There was a cocktail waiter at the service area looking for some drinks, and the bartender went back to work.

"The name's Frank," I lied. I wouldn't even consider "Frank" a good name for a hot dog.

"Kara," the girl answered.

"Cheers," I said, raising my vodka tonic.

She raised her glass and sipped it. I figured that she had already had three drinks in the previous hour and was tottering over the legal limit.

"So, how much do you need? A quarter? A buck? Is it a long distance call?"

"Huh?" Kara asked, confused. "Oh... money for a pay phone! Yes. Just a quarter or so. My ride left me and I need to get home."

"No money?" I asked, looking at her outfit. There was no way she could have hid a dime in her dress.

"No pockets," she said, grinning slightly.

"That's the problem with women's fashions," I remarked. "Never enough pockets. That way, they make more money selling pocket books."

This struck her as funny.

Kara hadn't noticed, but a couple of girls had approached her, only to be turned off when they saw me talking with her. It was just like I had predicted.

I signaled the bartender. "Do you have a business card for a taxi service?" It was a rhetorical question. Bars always had those numbers available for when their patrons had just a little bit too much.

"You need a ride?" he asked me.

"My friend here does."

He looked at her once again, and then looked at me. "I can call her a cab, if you want."

I turned to her. "Do you want, Kara?"

"Um... well, maybe in a little bit. I'd like to finish my drink."

"No problem, miss."

The bartender left, and Kara looked at me. "What did he mean?"

"Mean by what? Wanting to call you a cab?"

"I mean, when he said that they don't get many like us."

"Oh. Look at the couples at the tables," I said.

Kara looked, and after a few seconds, she realized that all most of the tables, the couples were members of the same gender.

"Oh! I didn't realize. Does that mean that you..."

I waited for her to finish the question, but Kara started blushing, thinking she was asking something too personal.

Finally, I let her off the hook. "No. I sometimes prefer this kind of place as a place where I can have a peaceful drink without being bothered."

Kara nodded and then said, "I didn't mean to be a bother..."

"You're not," I said.

She seemed to relax when I said that.

I already knew what would happen. She'd invite me to share her cab. Then she'd decide that she'd prefer to go to my place instead of hers. And, of course, she'd never be heard from again.

Kara followed her role perfectly. She arrived at my apartment, thoroughly infatuated with me.

My place was small, and I had already removed all traces left behind by her predecessor who was doing God knows what right now, trying to put her life back together.

My one-month lease would expire the very next Friday. Kara would follow me to my next destination, somewhere in the mid-west. I was due to escape the big megalopolis between Boston and Washington, and a small rural community would be a good place to dump Kara and find myself her replacement.

Of course, Kara had no idea that her life was predestined.

"There's only one bed," Kara said, giggling nervously.

"Yes. It's where I sleep. You can take the sofa."

This struck her as funny. "I thought we'd... you know... share..."

"The sofa doesn't appeal to me, Kara."

"I mean the bed, silly!"

"Oh. Are you making a request?" I asked, raising my eyes.

"I... um... I guess... I mean..."

"Because if you are, then I'll accept your request if you accept one from me."

"You want to sleep with me?" she asked, coyly.

"Maybe later. But first, I'd like to fuck that ass of yours."

My remark left her almost speechless. I had figured that she had never done anything so exotic before. I was apparently right.

"Fuck... my ass???" she asked, incredulously.

"Yeah. A good ass-fuck will put me to sleep nicely. Then you can wake me up tomorrow morning with a blow job, and then maybe I'll fuck that pussy of yours."

Kara had never been spoken to like this before. She was shocked that anybody would be so bold to just assume that she could be ordered to do those perverted things.

As Bugs Bunny would say, she didn't know me very well.

I could see a lot of emotions going through Kara's face. This is one of the joys in being me... watching a person go through the changes. She was changing from being a totally independent female that had recently told her boyfriend to take a hike to a subservient little slut that would fuck a professional hockey team just because I thought it might be funny.

Right now, my superior smile was slowly pissing the hell out of the "old Kara" that was gradually disappearing.

She was considering her options. She could easily go home. I had my wallet on the dresser, and would make no move to prevent her from taking out enough money to pay a cab. There was a telephone in the living room where we were. It wasn't connected, but she didn't know that. I had no interest in having any bills with my name on them. She could walk right out of my apartment, the same way that she left her loser boyfriend.

But what was really happening was that the "new Kara" was convincing the old one that she wanted, more than anything else, to be with me... to please me... no matter how weird I acted, or how insulting I was to her.

I watched the drama play out within her mind, her facial reactions making it clear to me what was happening. Once more, I had wished I had a video camera to record this. But when Kara's replacement came along, I'd get to see it again. And again. Ad infinitum.

Finally, she said in a small girl's voice, "I've never had anybody in my... my bottom... before."

"Cool," I said, playing my role. "I get an anal cherry as a bonus. Fine. For the cherry, I'll give you five minutes of pussy licking tomorrow morning, before I take my shower."

Once again, the "old Kara" couldn't stand being talked to that way. I idly wondered what Loser Boyfriend had done to piss her off before. It was probably nothing compared to what she was enduring now.

"I'd... I'd like that," Kara said, still in her little girl voice.

I bet, I thought to myself. A girl like Kara probably INSISTED that she get a good pussy licking before anybody even fucked her. Tough shit. Her life was changing, although she didn't know it.

"Of course, after the ass fucking, I expect you to clean my prick. I don't want to stain the sheets."

Actually, I didn't give a fuck about the sheets.

Kara meekly nodded.

Fuck. This bitch was already broken. She might not have enough to last the two weeks that I had estimated.

"F... Frank?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be all right if I cleaned it with a face cloth?"

"A face cloth? You mean, something that will touch my FACE? Are you fucking nuts?"

"S... sorry," she said.

Well, she still had a little spunk in her. Not much, but maybe she would last a couple of weeks.

"So. Strip. Lets see those hooters. What size are they, by the way?"

"My... hooters?"

"Are you fucking deaf? I don't have time to learn sign language!"

"Thirty... thirty five... C."

"A C-cup?" I asked, looking unconvinced.

Kara simply nodded.

"Well... let's see 'em," I said, taking a seat on the recliner.

Kara was standing in the middle of the living room. She looked around nervously.

"Um... Frank? Could we... like... close the curtains?"

"Why?"

"Your lights are bright. Somebody across the street can see inside?"

"I knew it. B cups. Probably 34B."

"No! I mean... you want me to take off my clothes with the curtains open?"

"Fuck it," I said, getting up off the recliner. I walked towards the bedroom. "Find your way out, Kara. Good riddance. What a fucking asshole!"

"Wait!" Kara said. I could hear the desperation in her voice.

"Strip right now!" I barked. "Show me your tits. And then, press them against the living room window. If there's a peeping Tom looking in on my apartment, he or she might as well get a good show."

Kara looked at me, once again in shock. Things were getting progressively worse, and she had no way out. If I threw her out while I was pissed at her, there was no telling what would happen. I had done that with some other prick tease that pissed me off, and she committed suicide the very next day. Not that I have any conscience about that... I'm a monster, remember? But my emotions tend to really affect those people that are attracted to me.

Kara's hands moved to the buttons on her blouse. She had a bit of trouble getting her fingers to properly unbutton it. I got a bit annoyed and walked over to her, and pulled the two sides of the blouse apart, shooting her buttons all over the apartment.

"I said, STRIP NOW!" I yelled.

Kara meekly nodded, and pulled her ruined blouse off her shoulders into a heap on the floor. She then reached behind her to undo her bra. She allowed the garment to join her blouse.

Kara's tits were nice. They weren't too large and flabby. But they weren't tiny little cupcakes, either. They were nicely shaped with enough firmness to keep them aloft.

Her nipples were hard. I tend to have that effect on females. When I get angry, their nipples and clitoris tend to get hard... almost demanding attention. In fact, as Kara stood in front of me, naked from the waist up, she unconsciously started to flick at her sensitive nipples with her fingers.

"Stop that!" I said, indicating her errant fingers.

"Sorry," she said.

"Press them to the window now, slut!"

Kara cringed as I called her that word, but slowly walked to the window. She pressed her breasts against the window as ordered.

"Keep them there a minute," I said. "Just in case he has a camera. This is a Kodak moment, you know!"

The thought that some stranger might be filming her made her blanche, but she held her pose.

Kara's reluctance to undress with the curtains open was a new experience for me. I had never encountered this before. I didn't know why I had told her to press them against the window, but in retrospect, I think it was due to an old movie that I had seen called Kentucky Fried Movie. There was a parody of the old B-movies from the early sixties called "Catholic High School Girls in Trouble" which had a scene where a girl was getting fucked in a shower, and her breasts visible against the clear shower door, getting jammed against the door with each thrust. thrust. I had really liked that scene, and I guess I was reliving it.

I doubt that I had any peeping Tom neighbors. Even if I did, I would be gone in a week. If somebody got his jollies by spying in my window, then my punishment of Kara would probably be a bonus for him. Live and let live. Any peeping Tom would have no idea what I was really doing to Kara, anyway.

"Was that a minute?" asked Kara.

"Guess so. Now show me your pussy. Take off the rest of your clothes."