Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Holloween {MfT B DS SM TS TG TV Drag, Rape, Snuf, Necr.  In some chapters,
I also use the code {ME} for Medical Examination.  Not sexually motivated,
but often explicit, and grahic depending on the subject.

   Billy {MM Snuf, Anal PL#3 on repeat, even if you can't stand it.}

   I tried to relax in the club.  Men dancing, drinking, kissing each
other, it's not the gayness of it, but why I'm here that makes me
uncomfortable.

   The papers called him "Dirty Harry." Mostly for his weapon of choice, a
.44 magnum, I'd seen his work.  From the stippling on what was left of
their faces, it was a long barreled revolver.  8-10", he put it in their
mouthes, to almost literally blew their heads off.

   They got it wrong, as usual.  The movies never portrayed Harry Callaghan
as particularly homophobic, or gay.  They missed the blatent philatio
aspect, the sexual displacement.  I've talked to professional prophilers on
the case, and they agree with me.

   He's internalized his fear of being gay to the ones he blames for it,
the "Faggots." Instead of fucking them, or acting out his rape fantasies,
he kills them, subconciously the most sexual way he could think of.

   Anyway, I got onboard, because we didn't have enough manpower to canvass
every gay bar in the SFBA.  He switched them, never using the same one
again, so far, and nobody recognised him enough to even get a description.
All we had so far was a profile, and two victims.

   Dr.  Jenkins always said, "Once is an instance, twice coincidence, three
times a pattern." Hopefully we wouldn't have to wait, for him to make it
official.  The chances of it being coincidence are pretty slim, but if he
moved, or evolved too much, we might lose him.

   There, coming in, I checked him out.  No, not like that, but I filtered
him through the pro-file I had in my head.  He definitely looked out of
place, like he was here against his will.  He brushes his hair out of his
eyes a moment, to look around the room, but it's twitchy.

   Horrified, he lowered his head, dropping the bangs over them, started
away from graphic displays of affection, homosexuality, man-on-man
sensuality.

   Paranoid,..  something.  I'm not sure whether it's Schitzophrenic, or
just Personality Disorder, but I figure he blames the gays for his same sex
attraction.  Extremely butch, leather jacket, jeans, boots, not cowboy, but
casual butch, subconcious.  Straight guys wouldn't wear that, he'd tell
himself, or that's a manly pair of boots.

   I had to make sure, lots of guys act likeat, closeted, not even
realizing they're doing it.  Not embarrassed, though, but truly homophobic,
scared shitless of "them".  Not counting himself as one, they are the
enemy. Eventually, he overcomes his revulsion, and lets himself get picked
up.

   He can't confront one, though, he has to be set off.  He sees me,
though, staring, freezes pinned like a deer by a sudden light.  "Kin I
getcha a drink?" he startles back from me.  Looking up, he caught my face,
eyes wavering, smiled slightly, and flushed.  His pleasant expression went
away, angry in a flash, clenching his jaw.

   "Sure." I set down, not too close, and a waiter came over.

   "Hey guys," he dropped a couple coasters, "What can I getcha?"

   "Another Tsing Tao," I nodded, "And..?"

   "No," he wouldn't even look up at the fabulous ensemble, or effeminate
set to the waiter's hips, but couldn't ignore the falsetto.

   "Suit yurself," he sasheyed away, "Sweety," and got me another beer. 
About my limit, I don't drink much, but should be able to handle a couple
to fit into the background.

   "What's your name?" I made my voice as deep as I could, to attract him.
Disgusted by the faggy ones, he would need some manliness, and I'm too
pretty for much.

   "Uh," he looked aside, "John." Right, that's why hookers call them that
too, instead of the real names.

   "Billy," I gripped his hand tight, "That's what everbody calls me."

   "Yeah?" I opened my eyes for him to see them, held his a moment before
he looked away shamefully.  Pretty, but straight acting was working.

   "I haven't seen you around," I took a sip, thankful I'd though to eat a
lot of fatty food first to soak it up.  "You from here?"

   "Where you from?" he got defensive, and I slipped my hand back.

   "Teh Pilipenes," I lied, "My daddy was stationed there, and married my
Ma, and took us back to Kentuky." I didn't want to tell him the truth, it's
a long story, and there's no telling how he'd take it.  I tied to fit his
victimology.  He's white, most sexually motivated killers stick to their
own race, but he'd killed a hispanic, and asian, once they could be
identified.  I had to run the DNA on the one I'd Examined, even his
finerprints were destroyed by the blast.

   "Uh," he looked around nervously, "You wanna get out of here?"

   "Yeah," I got up, looked back to him staring at my ass, the panic in his
eyes.  His hands were shaking like an addicts, and he was hyperventilating,
but he relaxed a little when we got out.

   "My," I looked up, ready to trigger him, "You're a big guy, aren't you?"
What was I doing?  He's a serial killer, almost certainly armed, why was I
following him instead of calling the police, baiting him?

   But he would run, maybe to another jurisdiction to hold it in as long's
he could.  The first two were months apart, but he was still evolving,
would probably accelerate when he got a feel for it.  "Let's go," he
grabbed my arm.

   "And forceful," I went for Frank 'n Furter, "Dominant.  I likeat."

   "Shutup," he drove a pickup, forced me into the cab.

   "Okay," I held up my hands, "Calm down." I didn't have to act scared,
he's no giant, but he picks small victims as low risk?  Or maybe he's
picked up by the petite ones, looking for a larger masculine man like him?

   May be he don't choose his victims, but waits to be chosen, so he has no
victimolgy beyond gay, and male.  "Stop it!" he puts his hand to his head,
over his eye, on this side.  He doesn't look at me, can't he hates me so
much, for making him feel like this, attracting him.

   Visual hallucinations?  The hair grown over his eyes as a subconcious
shield, avoiding eye contact, the one time his gaze met mine it triggered
one, his eyes twitching though I didn't move, following delusional action,
pleasent, then enraging when it tripped the homophobia.

   The release lowers his sexual tension, may be literally orgasmic, or
just enough to make it seem a little better.  He must think they're from
me, us his victims.  Killing the faggots makes it stop, or less intense. 
He believes he's picking up on it, psychicly, or something.

   "Fucking faggot," he stopped trying to hide it, pulled his pistol.

   "Omygod," I shrank back, hands up defensively, "You're him!"

   "Yeah," I had to look away from the barrel, the cylinder, like a black
metal scrotum.  "You're gonna die faggot, I'm gonna blow your fucking head
off."

   "Please," I had to get him to relax, "Don't hurt me."

   "Don't fight," he didn't look away from the road, "and it won't hurt."

   He drove me to Golden Gate Park, not one of his earlier dump sites. 
After the release, he didn't touch them, hang around, left them where they
died.  My heart pounded like it hadn't in years, and I had all these
feelings I never thought I would again.

   He parked, forced me out.  "Come on," he dragged me by the arm, gun to
my head, and I started shaking uncontrollably.  Deeper down the trail,
under the bridge, I knew I was going to die.

   What did Keith say?  "Go inta a fight knowing you can't lose, you will."
I remembered, "Know you can't win, you won't," now the important part,
"Know you won't live through it, and you can't lose."

   I relaxed, and we stopped, I caught my breath.  Looking up at him,
there, I felt it, nothing.  I didn't want to die, I would fight, but he was
relaxing too.  Wait, for the right time.  He can still make a mistake, I
can still win.

   "On your knees," he sneered, assured of his control, dominance,
"Faggot."

   I kept crying, not feeling it, but keeping up the act, pleading
wordlessly.  "Open your mouth," it was huge in front of me, and I was
surprised to feel myself hardening.  He won't pull the trigger until he
gets what he wants, it has to be just right.

   I put my hands on it, cold, hard, metallic, slipped my hands back to the
fluted cylinder, but kept my mouth shut.  "I said open your gotdam mouth!"
his hands shook, he was losing it.

   Colt Anaconda, double action.  I gripped it with all my strength, now
was the time to fight.  Eyes on his hand, going white in the sodium vapor,
finger tightening, straining.  The cylinder tried to turn, pinched my
fingers against the frame, but it couldn't fire.

   "Ah!" it hurt, "rrragh!" I pushed up with my legs, all my strength, and
adrenaline, and forced it back into his crotch, his balls.

   "Owwe!", then, "Ugh." he hunched.  His fingers slipped, relaxed a
seccond, long enough to wrench it free.  I hit his crotch again, and jumped
back as he fell, doubled over.  Panting, holding himself, I think I blacked
out.

   "Ashe" (fT NS Play)

   The Mourning Star thumped with an electronic pulse.  Even muffled
outside, I recognized the tune, the beat, {PL#242}.  I knew he was here,
had to be.  Out of all the places in the area, he'd check each of them, and
this is the one he'd choose.

   "That your costume?" the bouncer hulked down at me.

   "Yeah!" I spun, "I'm 'Winter'." My bleached white hair dropped back over
my shoulders, hood down, white polyfleece cloak behind me like a cape, snow
white dress flaring, blue bra showing through.

   "How old are you?" hir voice was deep, manly, and I wondered whether sHe
was M2F, or F2M?  Brown leather apron of a skirt, so female identified, but
the legs underneath were thick, detailed with muscle, skin tight enough to
see it.  Jacket against the autumn chill, it's been too dry to snow yet.

   "Twenty three," I lied, looking right in her eyes.  Hmm, green!  Kinda
pretty even.  I held up my card.  I don't have stuff like birth
certificates, or social security numbers legally, and I'm not sure how old
I am.

   "Ashley White, huh?" hir eyes scanned my face, "Cute.  You just look
younger," she shrugged, and handed it back.  Amazing what you can do with a
job at the MVD, and some makeup.  No velvet rope, but she held the door for
me, drew something on my hand.

   "Neat symbol," I looked up, "What's it mean?"

   "Question Gender," she opened her jacket to show it tattooed on hir
chest, a ?  with the +, and arrow, pointed up at a diagonal, right over her
cleavedge.

   Next to it, the black "Wife Beater" had a red Anarchy symbol, and I
caught a whiff of fragrance.

   Familiar, "Is that,.?" smells like.

   "Teen Spirit," a big hardy laugh, "Have a good time." Now where the hell
did she get that, the internet?

   Inside, I danced my way to the floor.  Glowing in the ultraviolet dark,
everbody saw me, watched me.  "One you lock teh target!" I sang along, "Two
you bait teh line!" swung around the room, "Three you slowly spread teh
net," didn't see him, or recognize him anyway, "And four you catch teh
man!" {PL#242}

   Great DJ, teh man nowhere in sight, probably off somewhere, fantasizing,
psyching hiself up.  Lotsa pretenders, though, some kid trying to dance up
to me.

   "Nice collar," I looked him down sarcasticly, "Who's is it?"

   "Mine," wrong answer, kid, "You want it?"

   I turned around, "I don't wear them," cause I know what they mean. 
Maybe, a real domme, at least.  "You're new here," he grinned, prominant
fangs, not my boy.

   "A regular member," dick, "aren'tcha?"

   "Yeah," to sensitive too.

   "Patience," I dansed away, anybody that moves likeat ain't worth a shit
in bed anyway.  Can't keep rythm even with it beat out for him, and I was
looking for a stronger quieter type.

   Quite an accelleration, for him, months to weeks, and a giant leap in
escalation.  I took my work out of my head, and just groved.  More german
industrial, but dansie, and playfull, "Plastic Fantastic!

   "Fantasich," I bounced along, "Phantastich, Plastich!" set my tits a
swinging with my hips, "Plastik Phantastik!" Rockin, not even aware of
evyryone around me, watching.  The synthetic poppy skip faded out, a synth
drum intro I recognised.  {PL#6-7}

   "Incomming!"

   I strutted to the bar to the guitar chug, the noir chix moving in behind
me to clear the cobwebs, and sang along.  "I'm lying on my back now, the
stars look all too near.  Flowers on the razor wire, I know you're near."

   If I just stood there, somebody'd buy me a drink.

   "We are few, and far between," he went on huskilly.

   "Hey!" behind me,

   "I was thinking about hherr," growled, "Skin!"

   "Ash, right?" the DJ, posing, but pulling it off.

   "Love," around us, "is a many splintered thing."

   "Yeah," don't be afraid, now, "You're," just walk away!  She talked
between the lyrics, so I did.

   "Molly," eyes hidden behing the goggles, stretching out the room,
flashing lights behind me, tiny.  "Chrome Molly Bach," the last syllable
with a German accent.

   I got it, "like Molly from Neuromancer, and Burning Chrome." {(c)William
Gibson}

   But with staples, looks like, twisted in the flat braids of her hair,
"Flowers on the razor wire."

   "A razor girl!" her left hand, becconing metallic polished nails filed
to double edged scalpel blades.  Increadible timing with the musik.

   "Walk on IN!"

   "As in Yohann Sebastian." She smiled, bug eye mirror goggles pushing up
her eyebrows.  Wow, just wow.

   "Her lovers qued up in the hallway," she mouthed the words, "I heard
them scratching at the door." she moved, sexy, not clawing theactricly, but
twisting felinely.  "I tried to tellem, 'bout Marx, and Engel's, 'God, and
Angels.' I don't really know what for."

   Her hand held out, "But she looked good in ribbons." It draped over her
fingers, black, and shiny.  Her chrome nails short on that hand, as if
she'd retracted them.  I took it, the music gone, world stopped around us,
then she turned away.

   "So just walk away!"

   I bet she looked good in ribbons, "Flowers on the Razor wire." A thick
round braid, swinging behind her almost to the floor, a rainbow of uv
reactive neon extensions woven in, a plug on the end.

   "You want anything?" I didn't even look over at the bartender.

   I shouted, "Yeah," to be "Her."

   "She's gay," he yelled back, "you know."

   "Yeah," don't have to tell me, "I know." And I think She likes me.

   "So whatcha want?" I finally turned away, "On the house."

   "Absynthe," I joked.  But he had it, I thought it was illegal, or
something.

   I usually don't choke on liquer, but even with the sugar, my body
recognises it for the poison it is.  Wormwood, biblicly {Rev.  8-10} toxic,
and numbing down my throat.

   Now, I'm not gay, but as the trippy music drifted in, a sound, like a
scream pulled out to a moan dragged me down.  Not molly, "Benedict."
Brutalfull {PL#7}, pretty/powerfull, the tilted nose just a chink in her
shiny armor.

   I'd have to get used to it, she would drink it, and it would attract
him. He likes to drug them, make it that much more intense.  I made it to
the danse floor, kept my feet under me, and let the musik carry me along...

   Billy

   I jerked awake, wished I couldn't remember my dreams.  Grabbing some
juice, it washed the nasty taste from my mouth, but didn't clear my head
any.  I blacked out again, only remembered in nightmares, prayed it wasn't
real.

   Disgusted, I got dressed, went out for a paper.  ["Dirty Harry" Strikes
Again!] the headline.  I relaxed, picked up a Tribune, and a cup of tea. 
[The Bay Area's latest serial killer slayed another man last night, in
Golden Gate park.] I closed my eyes, caught my breath.

   I skimmed the front page of the artical, thank god no pictures, but they
did release a pertinent fact.  The killer had escalated, sodimised his
victim with the gun before pulling the trigger.  "Yeah, faggot," the voice
in my head, "That what you want?  How do you like it?"

   The sobs, pleas.

   Saved by my ringtone, "I know," I braced myself, "I saw the artical."

   "No," she took me back, "Not Dirty Harry, another Serial."

   "What?" I copied the address, "We're not releasing the story yet,
pending investigation." Close, on Alameda Island, I drove out to a
deceptively normal suburb, lit by a slow sunrize.

   "Surreal," the lights flashing, cordoning off the house.  Simple,
nondescript, a dog barking franticly out back.  His space invaded, all
those cops inside, his territory, but only able to yell, helplessly in his
canine language.

   "This is a closed scene," I lifted my credentials.  "Sorry, sir," behind
me, "Your van's not marked."

   Yeah, most people don't like to see the Coroner in their neighborhood.
Besides, it's my personal vehicle, just happens to be able to carry a body,
descretely if neccisary.

   "Where is it?" The uniform looked releived.

   "Come on," he sighed, "We bin waiting on you, to move her." Female
victim, I stopped by the door, nominally.  Blood, hard to beleive it all
came from one person.  No message written in it, and a sheet over the body.
Soaked though, I could see that they were black, silky smooth, but even
darker with the wetness.

   I dropped my bag, "Why didn't the weekend M.E.  handle this one?"
someplace dry.  Strapped on some gloves, and pulled back the sheet.

   A woman, mutilated, looks like intentionally for disfigurement.  "Looks
like a closed casket," I sighed, parts of skull were visible on her
forehead, looks like the knifetip scraped sideways, with some force up into
the scalp.

   I pulled a liver thermometer, "What's the Ambient temp?"

   "'skuse me?" I had the room to myself.

   "Find the temperature in the house," preferrably before everbody and his
dog started traipsing in and out.

   "Yessir," all this bloodloss carried some of the body heat away,
complicating the calculation.  This wouldn't be a precise ToD, but sometime
after midnight, this late.

   "Thermostat's set on seventy five," I nodded.

   "Was the bedroom door closed when responders arrived?" he went to find
out.

   I shook out the Tyvek bag, waited for the photographers to finish. 
Spread eagled, a ruin of slashes, stabs.  A massive wound between her legs.
A multitailed whip, bloody, but undamaged around her wrist.  I packed her
up, and drove her to my office, flipping the diamond signs over on the
side. [Biohazard] with trefoil.

   Turning on the recorder, "Dr.  Billy Young," I pulled back the rest of
the cover to more, "It's sunday, 1Nov09," check my watch, "08:37."

   I won't recite the whole transcript, just the findings.  First, we're
talking about a sexual sadist here, rape, and torture to death, post mortem
stabbing, semen in one of the wounds, necro.

   Now, I seen a lot, but this was just aggreggious.  17 peri, and 23 post
mortem stabs as far as I could tell.  Countless slashes, clustered around
the chest, nipples exised, and leaking chunks of silicone.  No remains of
genitals, none, nothing but a wound between her legs, pubic bone showing
with tattered stripes of flesh.

   Right handed, can't guestimate height because I believe he was pronated
over her for the majority of the attack.  Inconsistant angles, moving up,
and down her.

   Defensive wounds, a sideways stab in the forearm down to the radius, and
ulna, single edged, with a dull back semi edge, 2 3/4" long, flat edge
above that.

   Deeper thorasic wounds give an approximate lenth of 4-6", flat sided, no
ferule, or hollow grind, so a cheap bowie.  No guard, at the base of the
blade from at least one imprint on her abdomen, the destinctive shape of a
lockback, a buck knife, or similar, no opening stud, or device apparent, so
probably just a nail slot.

   The wounds stop below the thighs, lascerations on the insides suggest
cutting to start the flow of blood, perhaps as a lubricant.

   No hesitation suggested in any of the stabs, or cuts, decisive and
controlled in the case of the cuts.  Specificly for torture, the nipples
exised, and the entire pereneal through pubic region destroyed.  Cuts
first, they are transected by several of the stabs.

   A semen sample, sent directly to the lab.  At the bottom of the pelvic
wound, it seems we're dealing with a sadistic necrophiliac.  Tortured her
to get hard, then raped her corpse with blood as lubricant.  Multiple
successive post mortem stab wounds, rage, after.  He covered her, not
protectively, but not wanting to look at her.

   Ironicly, it helped me forget my own personal demon that day, my own
sadistic behaviour nights before.  I didn't like what I was turning into
before, before I killed some damn body.  Sure, he was a killer, and wasn't
gonna stop, but I enjoyed it.  "There but for the grace of god..,"

   "Excuse me?" behind me.

   "Sorry," she held up a folder, "They rushed the bloodwork, and I think
you need to see this."

   The DNA profile, normally it took weeks, but this was priority 1.  First
48, and all.  We wanted to stop this guy before he got to another victim.
This much rage, and shadenfreude, unstructured, there would be more.

   "The semen sample?" I guessed.

   "No," she pointed at the table, hand over her mouth.  I'd gotten elbow
deep in the butterflied ribcage, removed the silicone implants, and weighed
the heart, but she wasn't new here, had seen it.

   "You're sure?" she turned away.

   "Yeah," she grabbed the trashcan, and tried to fill it.  I waited, held
back, and thanked myself for not eating anything.  She had eggs, looked
like, and bacon from the smell.  "They ran it three times."

   I looked back at the sheet, [Karyotype: XY46] chromosomes, male.  The
next sheet was toxicology, Estrogyne(c), and Viagra(Tm), among others. 
Trans.

   I brought up the case file, amended it with a note: [Victim was a M2F
transexual, prescription controlled substance for E.D.  in bloodstream
indicates pre-operative.]

   Curious, I cross referranced the ID, "Kathryn," with the legal name
change through a gender reassignment clinic in Miami.  Last address, from
the ID photo, no driver's liscence, in Berkley.  Place of employment a
couple blocks south, technicly in Oakland, zoned commercial/industrial.

   Notorious for prostitution, "massage parlors," and alley hookers. 
Specialists, trannys, and/or sadomasochists, possibly picked up by a John.

   From the torn clothing, and decor, collection of toys, and whips in hir
apartment, I guessed a Dominatrix.  She picked up the wrong client the
worst kind of switch, he must have overpowered hem, or been triggered by
the shock, surprise.

   He didn't tye hir down, but not for lack of opportunity.  The bed,
weight bench, mirrors, all subtly set up for it.  The closest thing was the
whip strap on her left wrist, signifying submission, but no welts on hir,
just cuts, stabs.

   "Mourningstar?" a man answered, yawned.

   "Uh," I glanced over at the phone, "This is Dr.  Billy Young over at the
Alameda County Coroner's office." So preoccupied, I don't remember dialing,
or deciding to call.

   "You had an employee named Kath,.." I glanced back to the screen.

   "Yes," he interrupted, "S'he quit last night."

   "Just following up," I switched frames, "What was 'her' position there?"

   "Barback," I supressed a chuckle, expecting some euphemism.

   "So you're a bar?" I guessed.

   "We've got one," strange dialect, "But the 'Star is a member's only
club."

   "Sex club?" I guessed, given the neighborhood's reputation.

   "Dance Club," right, "But sex is allowed, between members on the
premises."

   "Okay," I'd play, "Would you mind if I came up to talk to the manager in
person?"

   "Sure," effeminately, with a sigh, "Let me take a shower real quick."

   "It will take a few minutes to drive," almost lunch hour, meaning
traffic, "Maybe 45?"

   "Arright," he hung up.

   Billy

   "Yeah?" the bouncer barely opened the door, no music inside."We're
closed," started to shut it.

   "I'm not a customer," caught it, "I'm Dr.  Young, from the Coroner's
office?"

   "Oh, yeah," she?  let me in, "We talked on the phone." Same deep voice,
masculine inflection, but androgynous in the face.  "Marion Benedict,"
strong grip.

   Wearing a black pleated skirt, and ribbed A shirt, I saw bra strap
across the broad back.  "Credentials?" I gave me hir my card, and handed
over my ID wallet.

   Flipping through everthing, I got a chance to look her over.  Definitely
a woman, but almost 6' tall, and built like a man.  Broad, in the
shoulders, and hips, hir arms looked about as thick as my legs, yet
stronger.  The shirt bulged out in the chest, but the round cups were
small, wide apart.  The top of a Mars symbol tattooed over the neckline. 
Next to it, a red circled (A), stensiled onto the shirt.

   "Thanks," I took them back, "Can't be too carefull these days."

   "You don't say," I giggled, "Mind if I ask you some questions?" Feminine
features, might've even been pretty once, before getting her nose bent out
of shape.

   "Sure," I followed Her to a booth, "Have a seat." Across from me, I set
my bag down on the low table.  Not like a restraunt, about coffee table
height.

   "You work security here?" sHe nodded, "Last night?"

   "Yeah," a shrug, "Evrybody worked for Halloween, it's usually our best
night."

   "Of course," I looked around.  "This is a sex club?"

   "Niteclub." sHe chuckled, "But some sex happens here, yes."

   "For money?" it still looked like a front to me.

   "No." Emphaticly, "We enforce our prostitution, substance abuse, and age
restriction policies, forceably if neccisary."

   "You, personally?" Man sized, a woMan.

   "Sure," I watched HEr shoulders go up, and down.

   "If you don't mind," I didn't ask.

   "I'm a transsexualist," didn't haveto, "F2M."

   I nodded back, "Steroids?" Too broad for a natural woman, there had to
be some sort of androgenic virilization for that musculature.

   "Growth Hormones," It even strecthed the vocal chords.  sHe lifted HEr
chin to show me a scar on Her throat.

   "Hypothyroid," I figured.

   A nod, "I had to take them to grow up."

   Thyroid, and parathyroid suppliments could explain the bone structure,
"Still on them?" but not the virilization.

   "No," she shook her head, "I don't want to start getting more cancers."

   "And you're a," could've still been a halloween costume, "Dominatrix?"

   "I guess, I mean, I don't look normal, never did since before I became
sexually active, so I took what I got." Almost sad expression, "Most of the
guys, and girls who like a powerfull woman like me turned out to be subs,
so I naturally found myself in the Domme position."

   "Did you know," I looked down to the file, "Kathryn Addams?"

   Her eyes opened, "Yeah." Blinked wetly.  "Ahem."

   My guess was sexually, "How well?"

   "We live together," then a telling reaction, closing her eyes again,
half a breath catching, swallowed.  "Or we did."

   I crossed out,[Prostitute?] in my notes.  "And she was here last night?"

   "No," she turned away, "She left." to the door.

   "You said all employees were working..." 'Barback' what is that exactly?

   "Yeah," looking back to me, "She quit." Brown eyes, the exact shade of
her hair.

   "Why?" [nepotistic relationship with hir boss/bouncer.]

   "We," a tear rolled down, "were having problems with our relationship."
Ignored.

   She wiped it away with a sniff, "You mind me asking?"

   "You know what they say about working together?" she changed the
subject, "What's this got to do with her d,.." choked up.

   "Anything could be important," whoops, sorry.  "This early in an
investigation."

   "Well," the pleather seat shifted under her "She made a big scene, and
stormed out." Turning away, completely.

   I got up, "Did she leave with anyone?" tucked my notes away with my
computer.

   "No," I she sobbed.  "Not that I saw, but the door's in back, parking on
the side." She finally started crying, curled around to hide it, and I
looked away.

   Instead of leaving, I looked around.  It's a sex club.  Not like a bar,
where people go home together, but don't do it there, beyond the quick
blowjob in a bathroom stall, next to someone snorting something.

   No, it was blatent in the decor'.  Open, comfortable, and everthing's
conveniently placed.  Doors in back, on an interior wall, obviously
retrofitted in the off center vaulted rafters.  All of them open, shewing
frames of creepily erotic rooms.

   A tiled one on the end, shower fixtures, lockers on the wall behind a
bench.  A gym next, weight bench identical to the one at the crimescene. 
The back tilted up, no bar across the rests, and not a single weight in
sight, probably for safety.

   A massage table, and chair.  Some strange swing, only one way to sit in
the straps, thighs up, and open the width of the adjustable bar.  A rack of
toys, including a long broad leather paddle.  In front of it, the corner of
an aparatus, of some sort.  Wood polished to a shine, metallic rings, and
an open padded leather cuff hanging on it.

   Stairs up to little bacony above them, overlooking the stage big enough
for a dance floor across from the sound stand, about a meter off the floor.
Bar along the back wall between them, small, almost an afterthought. 
Scattered tables, and chairs, randomly placed, and probably nomadic.

   Booths in the corners, and across the coffee height fixed table, she was
still crying.  In the corner itself, a little triangular shelf, tastefull
amythistwear candy dish full of condoms.

   I sat back down, and watched her cry.  Turned away, kind of a twisted
variation of the foetal position, her legs crossed twice next to her on the
seat.  Thick heels, about an inch and a half lift, but wider on large feet.
Tight around ancles with prominant processes, and just above them with a
zip up the back, they had to be custom.

   Her long legs tapered up to powerfull looking thighs, broad hips under
the pleats.  Her jacket off, she was curled over in a black ribbed tank
top. Arm folded over her chest, her broad hand over her chin, and jaw.

   Her other arm was over her head, the rest of her face on the padded back
of the booth.  She tried to be quiet, sob quickly in hiccup like gasps,
took longer deeper breaths between.  Her back, this side of it with no
visible bone.

   The ribs, and scapula are covered in a thick broad curved wedge of
deltoid.  Twisted around likeat, I could only see the creases on the bare
part, but they fanned out, around, like a wing.  One tattooed, batlike with
red pannels, and black articulation.  The corner of a face, red skinned,
looking away.  An arched eyebrow over an evil eye, under a small gracefully
curved black horn.

   Used to being in control, even of something as chaotic as a sex club,
people come here to have sex.  She wipes hir eye, breast rolling naturally
into view.  "Sorry," she sniffed.

   "It's all right," I nodded, "You were in the service?"

   "Oh," she turned hir arm enough to see some of it, a belaying pin, a
pair of handcuffs, and [M, P] on either side.  "Yeah, the Navy." Releived
by the change in subject, she smiled.  I'd gained some respect, and trust.

   By not sweeping in, touching her, comforting her, but just sitting back
quietly, and letting her cry it out.  Momentarilly vulnerable, she
recovered, and started getting back to her own self.  "They wouldn't let me
see her body."

   She'd discovered it, called the police.  "You don't want to," I
remembered.  "She was pretty?"

   "Yeah!" sHe got out a picture, didn't look at it, but handed it over. 
From hir jacket, it was warm, and I caught a whiff of stale smoke from hir
hand.  Cigar, I think.

   A little worn, some masculinity to it, but not enough to detract from
hir inheirent beauty.  S/he looked happy, hadn't seen enough pain to crease
hes brow, turn down hir lips, a dimple pushed up from the smile.  "Wow,"
tall, and slim, reasonably feminine figure, within tolerance.

   "Can I keep this?" I held it up to my chest, pulled my brows down around
my eyes sympatheticly.

   She nodded, "What about you?" A little redness in and around her eyes
the only sign she'd been crying.  Asymetrical, her nose was broken, bent to
the left, pulling hir smile up on the right.  Not ugly, at all, but
different, special looking.

   "What about me?" I blinked.

   "Where are you from?" she jumped all the way to the beginning.

   "I was born in Thailand," I guessed I owed hir that much, "But moved
here before I could remember much."

   "Uh huh," good listener.

   "I had just my father, in Kentucky, then another one in New Mexico, then
kind of a mentor who was a cop.  I was a PI for a while, then made it
through med school and got a job here."

   "Yeah," she sat up, "What happened to your fathers?" Frowning since I
said "father," I had told it enough times I could just recite it.  I didn't
pause, nor stress it neither, but I can't say what showed on my face.

   "They was arrested," I admitted, "For child pornography."

   "Oh." She didn't appologuise, just softened her face, and looked at me.
Didn't ask if they abused me, didn't assume, she knew.  Didn't have to ask,
make me say it, and spared me it.  "What's your sexuality?" a sympathetic
change of subject.

   "Idaknow," I shrugged, "I'm not gay, or nothing, but not what you'd call
straight either."

   "What do you like?" she sat foreward, elbows on knees.

   "I don't have a type," I looked up, "I guess I like differnt things,
people, not normal, but not alike neither."

   She looked up, "I got to get ready to open up," stood up, and walked
around toward the bar. About caught up in trust, and respect, her right
shoulder had a tattooed angel, with his wing tattered, and bound, halo
hanging around his neck.

   A steel braid, or chain inked over her spine, faded to blue tapering
down from her short brown hair, bunched up in waves on the back of her
neck. Off her shoulders, and banged outof hir eyes, military cut.  "Hey," I
headded for the door, "I think I'll come back tonight, talk to some of the
other, witnesses." SHe looked at me sternly, "Politely."

   "Cover or two drink minimum," sHe turned back from the bar, "Just like
evrybody else."

   I went outside, smoked a cigarette, thought about hir.  Not a potential
victim, the guy that did that is terrified of hir, I'd bet my job on it. 
But not the perp, either.  Could possibly be lying, another M2F, capable of
ejaculating, but I'd measured 7-8" penetration at least, longer than the
knife blade, expanding the vulval wound.

   He didn't know, found Kat's "surprise," and lost it.  But he enjoyed it,
would fantasize about it.  No skin under her torn, and chipped natural
nails, painted burgundy.  Only fibers, common threads.  Not even a rapist,
he kept his untraceable clothes on until she stopped fighting, then
necrophiled "her" corpse, cut into a "real" girl.

   Not bound, the only ligature mark was the strap on hir left wrist.  Not
bondage straps, something thin like the wrist strap on the "Cat," o' nine
tails I saw.  It held, didn't break with a distinctive whip mark, but he
has to be fairly large, and strong.

   Not as strong as Benedict, though, he took the weaker one.  Maybe to
hurt, and weaken her, but the first one wasn't planned.  After fantasizing
long enough, he'd evolve.  Can't escalate, or accellerate without a period
set by a seccond victim, so refine.  Re find an MO, the perfect scene.

   Torture, snuff, and necrophilia, that won't change, and he won't leave
the perfect hunting ground.  He may avoid it, but he knows he can get a
victim here.  A better one, the perfect one, or the best he can find.  The
victim may self select by approaching him, though.

   Right, the whole sadomasochism thing.  "She" was dressed as a
Dominatrix, found with the whip still around her wrist, black plastic dress
cut away, black wig with red extensions.  Red shreds of underwear.  Taken
in the parking lot, I tried to imagine her whole in the outfit.  Walking
out for a smoke.

   No, storming off in those impossible heels.  Probably 6'2 in them, but
passible, fashion model thin, calves stretched by the shoes.  Practicly a
hooker, but a specialist, he might have mistaken hir for one in this
neighborhood.  He didn't know she was a bottom, a joke in the Domme getup,
with the hidden punchline.

   So he plays it submissive, doesn't realise he's a sadist, and she
decides to take a walk on the other side.  Yeah, sick of being dominated by
Benedict, pissed, ready to get back, and here's this tall submissive boy to
take it out on.

   But he's the worst kind of switch, like the .44 faggot/killer.  Now he
knows it, soon he's gonna like it, and then, someone is going to die.  He
won't be here tonight, but when he comes back, I'll be here.  I'll know the
place, the people in it, and see him.  I'll stop him first.

   "Ashe" (Mf NS Play)

   The musik took me, around the floor, evrybody else staying back,
watching, but not touching.  A sex club, and I was antisex, too pretty, but
too dangerous to touch.  Elsewhere, couples were dancing, talking,
touching, fucking but the world was the floor, and it was Mine.

   Great Dj, we talked some more, we're both Dommes, and I'm straight, and
she accepted that.  I talked to Benny too, whenever I could.

   "PROPHECY!" {PL#5} I think, she plays mostly industrial, except
Halloween, which was goth night.  She played "Evry Day Is Halloween," by
Ministry, evry night, except Halloween.{PL#10}

   Real cool, and she thought I was cool, equal, but she doesn't know me.
Ashe is cool, I like her, maybe keep her around after all this.  I grooved
on, eye out for Him.  Too early, but he might show up, check out the place,
actually come inside.

   {PL#5} Until he stepped up, onto it, not dancing, head down, hands
together.  "You," he stammered, "Yyou dance great." The tune stopped, and I
caught my breath.  "You're Ashe," he breathed my name, for now, "Right?" He
looked up, then, oriental eyes, but his skin didn't glow in the ultraviolet
dark, greenish like the other Asians in the club.

   My heart wouldn't slow down, it was him, I was sure of it.  He likes
dommes, like that last one, dressed up as a dominatrix, but it was just a
costume.  He would play submissive, just like this, but approach me, come
to me just like I planned.  "Yeah," I straightend, nodded, stepped foreward
into his space.

   He stepped back, nervously, down to the regular floor so I was taller.
Very small, cute, almost pretty.  "Come on," I took his hand, his left in
my right, "Let's go sit down." I nodded to the bartender.

   "What's your name?" I sat him down.

   "Yuen," he didn't even look at me, "Yuen Ng," eyes still down, thin.

   "Ashe," I shook his hand, "Ashley White."

   "Is that your real name?" he finally looked up, watched my eyes.

   "Yeah," I took my hand back, a subtle punishment, "My familly was called
White in the the old country," I finally got to tell her story to someone,
"Because of the Albinos.  When I was born, my mom said I 'Looked like Ash,'
so they called me Ashley."

   "Oh," he frowned, but looked back down.

   "I didn't see you," he wasn't even dressed up, boring clothes, "Last
week."

   "This is my first night," he shrugged, "here."

   "Here ya go," the waitress dropped off the glass, slotted knife, and
sugar cube, lit it for me.

   "Thenks," I blew, and shot it in one practiced move.

   "Absynthe?" he guessed.

   "Ahgk," I shook my head, felt the warmth spreading, the tingle up my
spine.  "...Makes the heart grow fonder." Vulnerable, with the hallucenogen
already in my system.  Even if he wasn't ready to play, I am, any time.

   He laughed, covered his pretty mouth.  I expected him to be bigger,
taller, more masculine, but acting sub.  It fit, tho, Napoleon complex, or
whatever, compensating.

   I think I got a good tolerance for it, now.  No visual hallucinations,
but a whopper of a body trip, and time distortion, it doesn't retard me as
much any more, but makes it easier to danse.

   I thought about taking him with me, going with him.  But he wouldn't be
ready, saving himself more than another week.  He's perfect for me, too bad
we'll only have one chance, one time together.
CMB: Little Fugue {GM Play}
That creepy little asian guy that started hanging out walked right up to
Ashe, tore her away from Prophecy{PL#5}.  I felt, I don't know, crushed,

and it was a slow night.

   I channeled it, into the musik @ my fingertips, pulled up some Das Ich.
{PL#8} Start with Got ist Tod, that 15 secconds in the middle of Egodram
(Self titled) to make it even more horrendus.  Nailbomb vs Godflesh to the
death. Strip the vocals, bring the synth from the tital track.

   Segue over to Trent's little Halo {PL#9} Looks Fragile, so grab that
shattering sample, but spiral down 4 Ruiner, Reptile, not Closer, but then
the Pretty Hate Machine, to take the heartbreak from Something I Can Never
Have.

   Fugue, I had enough to improvise it in omega Major, to Alpha minor two
counterpoint themes, crushing combative beats.  If I can't have her, maybe
I can lure her back to the stage, watch her dance.

   Yuen Ng

   There was something, Idaknow, familliar about her.  The dancer, "Ash",
even on the stage I could sense something undefinable, just couldn't tell
what it was, how I felt about it, yet.

   But I know a mask, when I see one.  Even so beautifully crafted as all
that, she couldn't be what she seemed.  Young looking, too young, tiny,
pretty, cute.

   The problem is, masks are like lies, even if you notice them, you can't
see, or hear what they hide.  You can't know the truth, only that it isn't.

   But I might could deduce it, the trick is knowing what to look for. 
Just looking at her on the stage, a dance floor between shows, but it was
all her.  Not officially a show, but everone else danced around her,
watching.

   Looking so small, helpless, vulnerable.  Her translucent outfit glowed
in the ultravioled dark, too revealing to conceal anything.  Sheer white
lace dress contrasting the black bra, panties.  Belted, also black,
leather, quicklinks swinging behind her in a twirl, skirt flying out over
her long pale legs.

   She probably thinks in extremes, opposition, nothing in between. 
Dominating the floor, against her submissive appearence, she may hide
herself behind the inverse, white over black, Dominance under submission,
age with youth?  She got in here, but I bet Benedict wouldn't allow it if
she was as old as she looked, maybe about 13.

   But mature, her size, and features very childlike, but with breasts, and
hips of a woman, shrunken down.  Not a speck of innocence, the way she
dressed, was dancing, acts, and interacts all a mature statement, or adult,
anyway.

   It says "look at me", but her eyes were everwhere, watching, looking for
something, or someone she apparently thought was me.  That's how I managed
to attract her, talk to her, get my answers without asking the questions.

   Act submissive, the other side to her dominance.  Male for female, but
emasculine, prey.  Answer her questions, but don't speak unless in
response, and say what she wants to hear.  She picked up on it, accepted as
the gift it was, took advantage.

   Her story, "Ashe's," she told it straight to my eyes, stopped to roll
hers, caught mine again, and went on talking.  Now, that's an interesting
tell.  A confident liar, not pathological, but daring me to see someting in
those deceptive eyes.  Doesn't tell me the truth, but does go on to say
that she is fearless, confrontational, and advantageous.

   Not a drop of color to her, except her eyes, pale blue, and giant.  a
Luring, like her dance, the blatent paradox.  Passive Agressive, not my
usual personality, but an easy enough trick to pull.  Submissive, but still
in control, "topping from the bottom."

   The problem with playing prey is eventually, I start to feel it.  Fear.
The irrational terror of a rabbit before a barking dog.  But she had the
ears on, more catlike, cute even when she's being viscious.  Her lethal
sensuous grace on the dancefloor, her stage.

   I was dressed vanilla, khakki chinos, nice understated Italian shoes,
three button pullover, and a blazer for the autumn night.  A sheep, over my
inner wolf if you will, two predators, dressed as prey.

   "Uh," her hands above the table, she whiped out the glass with her
finger.  "Are you a switch?" I researched the roles, BDSM, and their terms,
symbols.  Black leather bracelets, with D rings to match her belt.

   "Domme," her eyes looked at were mine where, she set down the glass. 
"oh, these." Bondage bracelets, with the belt, you could bind her hands
behind her with the carabiners, and screw down the locks.  "I can use them
to restrain a sub, but I wear them so I don't have to carry them."

   No accent, impossible to tell where she was from.  A utilitarian
explenation, too rational, I couldn't see in her eyes whether it was the
truth, and that only intensified my uneasiness.  "I'ma sub." I lied
needlessly, but she didn't react.

   "Yeah," I almost expected to see her breath.  "I got that." Why did I
find her so intimidating?  I think I finally saw something in her eyes,
subtle, at first I mistook it for lust.  Not that, she was too cold, dead
inside.  In my experience, someone like her is never what they appear, and
she seems so harmless.

   Not love, hate.

   A living, breathing walking talking dancing paradox, the horror grew
immense, overpowering, obscureing all else.  The thing is, I'm not a
masochist, or submissive, and I doubt I'd like being tied up, humiliated. I
don't think I could go for it, get into it, and I sure don't want to break
down, crying, hanging soft, as much as she would enjoy it.

   "Uh," I pulled out my buzzing phone, pretended to read it till it rang,
"I got to go."

   Outside, I gasped for fresh cool air, felt suffocated by the atmosphere
in the club.  All those people, heating it, talking breath, filling it with
their sensual scent of arousal, lust.  But not her, I never felt any from
her, despite the environment, the implicit sexual undertone pervading it.

   I lit a cigarette, "ahh," sighed out smoke.  Whoever it was would call
back.  "Chirpchirp!" I got in my truck, and signed onto my laptop.  [Ashley
White:] I started a new folder with my analysis while it was still fresh.
[Dominant, but passive agressive, she thinks in opposition of extremes.
Hides everthing with the inverse, plays submissive as a lure for dominants,
and preys on them, somehow.  Obscure motive, and wants, sexual, but

probably not sensual.

   Sadistic?  She promises pleasure, so probably conceals pain.  Extremely
experienced, she might have victims, but they may not report it, or just
finds sub/masochistic enough men to enjoy it consentually.  She'd use
shame, being a dominant tortured by an apparent submissive, a cute little
girl, to silence them if victims.  Not a true sadist, or sociopath, they're
typicly male anyway.

   She likes the role reversal, the extreme contrast.  Cute, but viscious,
she found somewhere she don't have to hide it.  A social outlet for her
perversion, where she's appreciated for it.  Exhibitionistic, dressed at
least as revealing as stark nudity.

   "Ashley White" has to be an alias, a persona.  Try to find some
background, if possible.  She has to have some kind of record, hopefully
that I can connect...]

   The perfect victim, I sat back to think.  It matches up so well with the
killer, the sadistic necrophile.  Obsessed with subjegating dominants,
she's not posing as it, but playing a part.  Small, and weak enough to
overpower, force for real, torture instead of taking her weak punishment
with play instruments, softened, and made safe.

   That belt, and cuffs combo was dangerous.  She didn't know what she was
dealing with, could be hurt, or killed.

   Ashe

   Billy, huh?  That's what "everbody" calls him, right?  Not Yuen'ng, or
whatever, Billy Young.  Can't really ask about him, all suspicious, but
what the fuck, it's a community, right?

   Started showing up in early november, right after me, but isn't anything
like the bastard I just followed across the country.  I mean, he was blonde
once, nobody though anything of it, but as redneck as he talks, he's not a
blonde.

   Evrything else checks out, though.  A submissive playing sexual
predator, rapist type, creepy.  Not like evryone else in the club, playing
Ds, or Sm, but the real thing, sexual sadist, or sociopath, can't tell
which.  Another?

   How many we talking about here, 5?  Me, the guy from Halloween, Paul,
the heroin starver, and "Dirty Harry." One fuck of a cluster of killers,
and Billy just had to be one of them.  Not Gay, so scratch the Magnum fag
killer, Paul isn't blonde, but I don't know if he's capable of the
escalation to Halloween.  The heroin starver's dead, and he ain't me, so
yeah.

   That was him saturday night, Kat missed her ride, or something, and he
shows up, she's right there, crying, whiping her eyes, whip dandling from
her right wrist.  A crying Dominatrix, he wouldn't have to come in. 
Benny's around the corner, crying too, and bam, he drives her away, takes
her home, seduces her submissively, and bam, switches.

   Sketchy details, rumor more than the police are releasing.  Benny found
the body, but was in no shape to talk about it, nobody else saw it.  What
I'd give to get the coroner who did that autopsy alone.  He'd know, how
"she" was tortured, raped to death, analy?  Mutilated,

   Now don't get turned on girl, I'm not here for sex.  Not the kind in the
rules, safe, consentual loving sex dressed up as bondage, sadism, and
dominance.  I'd save myself, chaste on the danse floor till he's good and
ready.

   Billy {MT NS Psyc ME}

   "You have a nice time?" Bene' cleaned up after the night, picking up
tables like they were nothing, so I grabbed a chair.

   "Damn Skippy!" I laughed, "Great place you got here."

   "Thanks, Billy," I dropped of the chair, and wen ack for another.  "So
who toldja it was my place?"

   "Nobody," actually she did, over successive conversation.  Not
explicitly, but her tone, and mannerisms said "My place".

   "Molly's my silent partner," she gabbed two chairs.  "She's got lots of
money, but likes the noteriety of working in a sex club better than owning
it." switching to one hand, she grabbed two more, and hauled them back to
the tables.

   "You guys lovers?" not really curious, but I'd never seen them together.
The DJ shut down the lights, and left like she was fleeing, before the
bartender even finished counting out.  Neat bar, transparent so you could
see the bondage gear, toys, lube, and so forth offered underneath.  Safe
sex packets were available free, all overe the place.

   She flipped the chairs, set them on the two I brought, "We never went
out, or anything," she didn't finish that though, just turned, and pointed
behind the bar.  "Grab a broom."

   Yeah, she was embarassing my help with the furniture.  "But you're not a
lesbian."

   "No," I she chuckled, "You?"

   "I'm not gay," I chuckled back, "If that's what you mean."

   "I can't be," she looked me in the eyes, "I'd have to find someone like
me for that, and since evrybody's different, I'm straight with all of
them."

   "Yeah," I nodded, "I'm something likeat." Sweep, sweep, "Do I need to
get a membership, or something?"

   "Be my Guest," I laughed at her little pun, "but if you come back, try
to meet the dress code."

   "What?" I looked down.  Halloween was over, but I still had on my serial
killer getup.  I mean, the way real serial killers dress, trying not to,
but I guess she didn't catch on.

   "You stick out like a cock in a coctail dress." I had to laugh hard at
that, then gathered the dust in a pile while she grabbed the pan.

   "That one of your Benedictisms?" I decided to call them.

   "You can call me Marion," she bent over, broad back curved like a dome
to sweep up the pile.

   "I like Bene'," Latin for 'Good.' She looked down, smiling, eyebrows
curved under her bangs, around her brown eyes.  "Can I see your tattoos?"

   "Which ones?" she swallowed.

   "The back?" I looked down at hir scar, a black line tattooed below it.
She turned, and I followed it around hir shoulder to a round knot on the
back of her neck.  Her back flexed, lifting off her shirt.  A broad flat
rippling surface, it tapered down.

   As did the whip, along her spine, like the one in the hand of the figure
on hir left shoulder.  She broadened, straightened with a couple audible
pops.  Flat, I could see every detail of the figure on each shoulder.

   On the left, the succubis, sex demoness, naked, beautifully evil. 
Bonelessly curvaceous, the whip held back, behind her rump, curling down
like a tail.  On the other side of her hip, a long taper of reddish flesh,
triangular tip, but all curves.  Barbed, like a devil tail, except in
front.

   Grinning sadisticly over at the other shoulder, the angel bound, striped
with welts.  Wings torn, and bloody, feathers tattered like mange.  Head
down, broken, but beautifull, tears streaking his shiny armored chest. 
Emasculated below that, hanging in a shred with no dignity, ruined.

   "Fantastic," magic taken to the extreme.  Internally consistant as a
lifelong delusion, and evocative.  I shouldn't have to interpret it, but
for those not up to speed, hir inner demoness controls hir inner angel,
male, but emasculine, bound, sexually maimed to a cripple.  Very little
blood, just enough to emphasize the contrast, on his white skin.

   Her whip, the pain demoness' wrapped around hir throat, holding the
penis, enslaved to it.  "Dominant Masochist?"

   "Yeah," sHe turned, twisted muscularly, almost changed shape.  "Then
there's this one," sHe turned around, made no effort to cover her chest,
hanging.

   "Question Gender," I read easilly enough.  Question mark with the male,
and female symbols added, simple.

   "Yeah!" hir face lit up with a wide crooked smile.

   "Gynecomastoid mammal atrophy," I'd looked back down.

   "Huh?" Hir breast are small, widely spaced, and sag almost to the point
of pancake.  "Orangutan titteh," like a great ape, flopped over the
pectorali with dark nipples almost to the lower edges.  Pulled outward,
steeply diagonal by the underlying shelf of muscle, cockeyed, like Marty
Feldman in Young Frankenstein.

   If not steroids, then some kind of androgen.  Can't say testosterone,
yet, but either a powerfull one, or a lot of it over an extensive period of
time.  "Hey!" sHe shoved me playfully, but with more than enough force to
emphaSize the difference.  Large, and powerfull, sHe had to be at least
twice my mass, and I'd estimate 4-5 times as strong as me.

   Tapering down, the triangular wings visible around the side.  "Just let
me have a lookat you." Vertical striation in the abdominals, fanning out to
the obliques.  Not a rib showing, just muscular sinusoidal waves where they
should be.

   "Can I see the rest?" she looked down, frowned under her bangs, waved
down just over her normally straight, brown eyebrows.  Light brown eyes,
tanned complection with a reddish undertone, not makeup, but a barely
visible flush, her lips thicker than usual.

   "I was going to crash," she undid her belt, "But." Drop the skirt,
thunking heavilly from all the stuff in the pockets over lycra shorts. 
Just above the waistline, the top of another tattoo, faded to blue, two
circular arcs.  "Let me see what you got," she pulled out my shirt by feel,
and reached in.

   Obviously not an erection, I wasn't feeling anything.  Fascinated by the
physical specimine in front of me, I reached out to pull down hir shorts.
Already muggy with her musk, and his very masculine smelling sweat.  Lots
of hair even above the pubic mesa, a stripe past her deep navel crevace.

   In the hair, another tattoo, impossible to make out completely.  I bent
my knees, crouched, and set down the broom.  Held the spandex for hir to
step out of in hir boots.  Smooth medium tone muscular legs, thickening up
to hir genitals.

   Thick brown curls of pubic fur, obscurig all but the blued curls of the
tattoo under it.  I could see hir thick labia, wrincled like scrotal
tissue, but hairless.  Between them the centimeter thick cylindric fold of
hir clitorus.

   I expected megaly, but as it continued to harden, the skin rolled back
to the meatus.  Cleft, it spread like a flower of skin, reddish with blood.
"Perfect."

   "Perfectly what?" sHe asked.

   "You." I got up, fixed my pants, didn't care if sHe thought I ejaculated
prematurely, or not.

   "I was gonna crash here," she propped her hands on hir broad hips, "Or I
could go to your place."

   I turned, "You're not done greiving." She blinked, gorgeous, but
confused.  "I like you too much to do anything too soon."

   Definitely testosterone, not di-hydro, from her unaffected hairline,
small doses over years.  If you took a girl, with the thyroids removed, and
put her through male adolescence, that's what you'd get.  Impressive, but
not no nine inches, no external testes, or inguinal smears, so not
ejaculatory.  She was a victim, like Kat.

   Or Ashe, like a perfect victim.  Tiny, helpless, obviously unarmed, but
dominant, forcefull, and demanding.  Like a vision, you can't not look at
her, watch her hystrionic mating display.

   I could depend on myself to protect her, or be realistic about it.  I'm
not much bigger than her, armed, but shooting high penetration magnums in a
crowded club is a losing proposition.

   Maybe I could bring 3K with me next time, I chuckled.  This isn't a
game, I tell myself, this is a fight, possibly to the death.  Not bound by
rules, 64 squares, legal moves, but organic, analogue, potentially lethal.
Still, she looked like a princess, but ruled the dance floor.

   And who counters a white queen?

   Knight {M NS Muse}

   "You feel me?"

   I paused, caught the rythm of the beat a few, then let it flow.  "Kummin
up behind No scents, no sound, just a somethin in your mind." I got ta fill
that something in.  "Playen?" Not feeling, to repettitive, somethin else.
Three four, "Juss likeat," (Kap Kap Kap) ", the last thing you felt.  Then
you hit the pavement from the damage that I dealt." I cin work onat.  "Like
the last and the next, you all gotta fall.  take a nutha sucka out my way
'till I get it all."

   "Mutha," I cut the track, "Fucker!" pikt upda phone, "Whut!"

   "Sorry K," Billy, "You busy?"

   "Nah," I lost the rythm anyway, "Just writin."

   "What?" he seemed intrested.

   "Workin on my rhyme," I flipped shut the blue loose leaf, {(c) Ice T}
"Ikin git back to it."

   "Still think you need theme music?" he chuckled.

   "Yeh!" I chucked my head, "Just one song, an if they like it." Fuck,
Will Smith cin do it.  I took my ear away, shook my head clear of the
street mouth.  Dr.  Young likes proper English, not proppa word.

   "Good luck with that," I never heard him listen to music before, but I
know he don't like Hip-Hop, much less Gangsta.  Fuck, I'm a gangster, or
what he, and Hank call counter gangster, and I'm famous.  "Whatcha doin
tonight?"

   "Nuthin much," it'd been quiet lately, "You got something goin on?" at
least on the G.

   "Lots," he sounded tired, "They're still canvassing for the .44 faggot,
but we both know that's over." Yeh, Hank got rid of that peice.  "Now, it
looks like the next one's already getting started."

   "The Halloween thing?" some girl mutilated beyond recognition, most of
the stabs after she was already dead.  Hey, I follow crime, all crime. 
Serial Sex crime isn't my jurisdiction, but it distracts the cops, which is
what makes it what Billy calls a "significant datum."

   I learned a lot from him, he knows his shit.  "Yeah, that."

   "Where you at?" might be a nice change of pace.  Serial killers scare
most people, but they kill low risk, victims, one at a time.  When you
killed three armed men at the same time all by yourself, more'n once, the
creepy sneaks ain't so scary, and when you're not scared of them, they lose
most of their power.

   Benedict {Tf, PL#4}

   I wasn't done greiving, but life goes on.  Another weekend, we can't
afford to stay closed in this economy, no matter how well we did for
Halloween.  I stayed back, quiet, tried not to let them see me cry for like
a week, and a half.

   "Why," I fixed my face, "Dr.  Young." He told me he'd come back.

   "Hey," he nodded up at me, "Just thought I'd ask around, meet some of
the others."

   On a member's only night, not specificly a sex night, but I can be a lot
more relaxed about the rules.  It's a pretty close community, like a small
town, nobody's got nothing evrybody hasn't been exposed to for long, and
pretty body fluid secure through good discipline.

   Not counting newbies like him, and Ashe, both guests of me, or Molly. 
Kinda reserved, I'd bet he'd know if he got something right away with all
he has access too.  "No more questions?" I relaxed with a deep sigh.

   "Maybe," he smiled guiltilly, "Did she do any drugs?" I didn't ask who,
why he avoided her name.

   "No," I shook my head, "I mean they were part of her treatment, but she
was always afraid of interactions."

   "What about Viagra?" he pulled a sheet out of his pocket, unfolded it,
and I realised he didn't have his bag with him.

   I nodded, "To counter the effects of the Estrogens."

   "Exctacy?" he read.

   "No." she was other wize straight edge.

   "Acid?" didn't even drink.

   "Uh Uh." I ment it.

   He went in, and Ashe slowed, watching him.  Slow night, evrybody
recovering from Halloween, saving up for next weekend.  She saw me
watching, dansed for me.  From across the room, slow, sexy.  No telling
where she'd been, looking, and acting like that.

   Molly switched up in the middle of the track.  From Every Day Is
Halloween to her remix of My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult - "The Velvet
Edge." Sour grapes, she'd tried to get into that oh so visible underwear
for weeks now, gave her a Ribbon.

   I ached for her, someone, something other than my hands.  Not Molly, I
went to her first.  "When you get the chance," I stood up to shout over the
edge of her console, "Brute."

   Hopping down, I walked across the stage.  Again cut short, she mixed it
in, the tingling precussive intro to the heavy guitar groove of Mann, and
McCoy.  I hadn't done this since Kat {\\Consentual/Gender Bender} but this
was my song, like Ribbons for Molly, when she's going for a goth chick.

   I like the KMFDM, swung my hips, and shoulders to dance beat, not quite
industrial, Electric Body Muzik.  The whispered vocals, lips in sync,

   "Between the licker, the led, the lies that I've said," Now I had her
attention, cooperation, danse counterpoint to mine.  "Between my mind, and
my crime, and me in the grind." We came together, her between my legs,
getting down, and dirty.

   "Between the gun, the lead, the lies that I've said," my hands came up,
to her face, hair, "And from your sweet breath comes the dawn of my
death..,"

   "Touch me," she did, "Need me," hands around to my back, electric chug,
Jnn jnn jnn jnn, "Give yourself to me, and break me."

   We jammed together for the chorus.  "Cut these eyes," I bent down to her
face looking up, "And I will see," Closer, "Kiss these lying lips for me,"
hers soft, receptive, "Stroke this skin," my hands petting down her neck to
her shoulders, "And I will kneel."

   "Brutalize me," On her knees at my feet, "I will heal."

   Ashley {TG Bond Saph Cunn Dild Frip}

   sHe stood over me, magnificent.  sHe seen me, watched me, dansing, for
Her.  sHe came to me, matching red, but burghundy, velvet vest, and short
pleated skirt in wine, only making her look manlier.  High heeled shoes
pulling her legs tight, not a spot of makeup.

   She took me back to her room, the closet, locked both doors with us
between them.  Outside, the musik was muffled, distant.  She closed it with
authourity, not slamming it, but Owning it, and I tried to slow my heart,
breathe deeper.

   I'm not gay, but neither's this.  Scared, even, I couldn't take my mind
all the way off my blade, it's hardness against me, pressing my skin
against the bone.  Just this once, have sex, make love, not hate.  I heard
it around the club, "Never trust a Dom/mme who never subbed."

   I forgot, what it was like to be a victim.  It's better for me, if I
know what they're feeling, but I lost touch with it.  subSpace, I looked up
from it, the dark corner deep in me, the crying place.  Tears of releif
trickled down my cheeks.

   No longer a dance, a game, HEr strong hands un-dressed me, pulled it
over, skillfull removed my bra.  The belt came off, knife falling free to
clunk down, pommel first.

   She looked up, head cocked to the side, and raised an eyebrow.  Her lip
curled up, higher in half a smile.  She wasn't mad, but looked releived. 
Pulling open the snaps of her vest, matching burgundy wife beater.

   "Brutalfull."

   sHe chuckled against me, thighs over mine, heavy.  I could feel her,
idaknow, mass.  Weight pulling me into Her, gravity.  Pulling back, biting
the corner of her lip.

   Lifting up, body panning over me like a star destroyer {(C) George
Lucas} Hot muggy sweat, manly, more like wood, not quite as hard as bone.
Stubble brushing my lips, between her boobs, hanging down around my face.
Almost smothering me with my own breath, but her thighs rolling up my ribs.


   Large hands, tickling my nipples, making me giggle.  Ripples of HEr
midriff, line down the middle, belly button in a deap crack down the
middle. I lapped at it, salty around the tip of my tongue.  I could feel
her moaning sigh, smell her lust.

   She pulled back, showing me her still prickly front, another tattoo on
it.  Two curls, like the ends of rot iron, with a U shape hanging in front
of it.  Not a symbol from anything I know, it looks like a dick, hanging
between the balls, pointing down.

   I knew it was cumming, stepping up to stand on the door, knee pressing
down the top of my arm.  Hands in my hair, I opened my eyes.  Her face,
looking down HEr body, like looking across the land from here.  Crooked
smile, nose, one nostril flared, the other pinched to a 9.  Her eyes, brows
curled around them, dark, pits mine fell up into.

   I didn't say nothing, even before my mouth was full.  My eyes looking
down, it cumming in to darkness, crushing me face first.  Not a word,
deMand, forcing me to kiss Her.  "Mmmn," meaty, blood warm like steak just
cut off the cow, still twitching, bloody even.

   Now, this is supposed to be a safe sex place, but I found myself
enjoying it, the familiar tang in my nostrils, the dirtiness of it.  Just
the latest virginity lost, I kinda go through them backwards.  Anyway, I
never ate someone out before, another girl, much less a woMan.

   I found him, her little boy, peeking out.  Enough to suck on, but never
very hard, as hard as the rest of hir.  To little to fuck with, I think,
but more than I imagined any woMan to have.

   Not quite like rape, the power play, size diffrence, my submission, but
not the pain, his joy in it, moment of vulnerability inside me.

   Not hard, but chubby with blood, webbed around her hole with two lips, a
spongey head in the folds where they came together.  I sucked him out,
slipped my tongue behind, up a little cut in the back, to the hole at the
top.

   No piss taste, she had to wash, and wipe really good.  Wet on my chin,
almost in her, I could feel it, HEr superiority, my inferiority, kneeling
under Her, giving HEr pleasure.  Not enough to fuck, but plenty to suck.  I
slipped my hands up, between her powerfull thighs.

   Empty, it was right there where it fell, I could reach it, but wouldn't
need it.  She wasn't going to force me down, into me, rape me, she
couldn't. I touched her, felt inside, her sigh over me.

   Molly {F NS Play}

   As soon as she said "Brute", I knew it was over.  I lost, remembered the
first time i played it for Her.  Don't trust any Domme who never subbed, I
learned so much from Her.  I felt it, subspace, the freeDom of knowing you
can scream as much as you want, struggle as hard as you can.

   The top is so much more shackled to the scene, ironicly enough to
confuse most vanillas.  Responsible for everything, and if anything goes
wrong.  She's the one who has to freeze at the first utterance of the safe
word, controlled by it.

   I don't know, I put on Ruiner, to honor Her triumph.  {PL#9} "How'd you
get so big?  How'd you get so strong..." I just cried, Wretched, noone
standing on the dance floor to see.

   Sighing, I put my goggles back down, my hand on my forehead.  I don't
know how her Gothness rubbed off on me.  I hadn't put it on yet, so I qued
"Everyday is Halloween," decided to let the noir kids have another night.
It was as dark as my mood, Bauhaus, Psychotica, Depeche', not Sisters of
Mercy.  A Slight Case Of Overbombing on that one.

   I never played it, started over with "People are People." Upbeat, Yello
- Ola Kolate (Stella).  Yeah, get to work Grrl.

   Billy (MM Race Bond Oral Anal Safe)

   Yeah, he's not coming till he's ready.  I kept my eyes open, interviewed
many men who seemed to fit the preliminary profile, but that didn't narrow
it down much.  Male cut about half the feild, submissive fascade less than
half that, eliminate the small ones, that still left hundreds.

   Xavier, pronounced "Ksavea," archetypic Dom.  A little soft around the
middle, receeding hairline, working out his midlife by tying up, and
playfully torturing little girls.  The first members night, he put on a
show with Lexi, streotypic subbie girl.  Cute, collared, I'd never even
seen her speak, unless spoken to.

   They did a scene, with red candlewax, pseudo vampiric in the Dungeon
room.  Most of the other's looked bored, but I watched long enough to see
they knew what they was doing.  Safe, and consensual, almost loving the way
she looked at him.  He wore a rubber, easilly large enough, but the wrong
pathology.

   My perp played sub to lure Dommes, so look at the subby men, tall
enough, cute, even pretty on the danse floor.  "You want to dance alone?"
he shook his head, kept up the rythm.  Dressed gayly, not faggy, but nice,
flattering, coordinated, and finely tailored.  Halloween over, an 80s style
pant suit, a muted navy, as far as I could tell in the flickering, panning
colorchanging light.

   And the near UV, it pervaded the whole club, so everthing white shone.
Ashe was warming up, clearing the center stage, claiming it.  Now, I'm not
much of a dancer, so I just kept rythm.  "Over here," a bad case of
stripper eyes, he's white too, dark brown hair, and eyes, unnatural
superpurple glow distorting his face.

   Still, kinda pretty, about the same size as me, but with anglo features,
nice wide eyes.  Compound curve to the jaw, rounded corner at the side of
his neck.  Turning the other way, an assymetry, one cheekbone higher than
the other.  "You dance well," that's right, here.

   "You're not great," refreshing honesty, he stopped.

   "Sorry," I did too, "Never had a good partner to learn from."

   "I teach dancing," I followed him down the steps, "Professionally."

   "Oh," turning to look back, up.  Maybe I read him wrong, the killer I
mean.  Maybe he was gay, and picked out Kat because as Bene says, she stuck
out like a cock in a coctail dress.  It would match his role reversal MO,
turning dommes into victims.  Only one victim, maybe he was chosen because
he had a dick.  "Maybe you could give me some pointers."

   Free ones, I don't need to pay for lessons.  "You don't have the hips
for all that lower body." I guess I was trying to dance like Ashe.  "Are
you faemily?" Not normally gay acting, he said the last word almost
effeminately.

   "Extended familly," I guessed, "I haven't found what I like yet."

   "Well, what did you try?" I looked over at the bar, and the tender
nodded with a smile.

   "Age play," I looked back, "Some drag, group stuff.  How 'bout you?"

   "Bondage," he smiled whistfully, "Mostly," looked back at me.  Kinda
light brown eyes, almost blonde.

   "Top, or bottom?" using the gay words.

   "Switch," the killer wouldn't identify as that, would lie about it, even
to himself.  "Both positions have their charms." He winked, twice, both
eyes.

   The waitress brought over a beer, and some red wine.  Just one to losen
me up.

   "So do you," I admitted, with a giggle when he wagled his eyebrows.  "I
never done neither," but it would be good research.  "What's the
attraction?"

   He sighed, not looking up to lie, but recall an emotional memory, "The
top's easy, the power trip, but you're almost a slave to to scene."
Definitely not the killer, "You see, it's the Dom who's responsible, if
anything goes wrong, and you're bound by the safe word."

   "Isat so?" I couldn't tell if he preferred submission,

   "But the bottom is ironicly freer.  Yeah, you're tied up, and all, but
you can thrash, and scream all you want.  You can take it, whatever the Dom
dishes out, and stop it any time you want." Or was trying to talk me into
it.

   "Sounds," that's why he was a switch, "Interesting," he got off on the
irony, the sub in control of the Dom, but not likeat.

   "Would you like to try?" it was a members only night, Bene' had to clear
any guests, but I was her's.

   I set back, looked around.  Slow night, all regulars, and no matter the
pathology, He's not a regular, not here tonight.  "Sure," I looked to the
private rooms, all open, and empty.  He got up, helped me up, held onto my
hand.

   "Billy," I looked up from his thick heeled shoes to his eyes.

   "Colin," Irish name, but American, probably some kind of mix.  Looked
like mediterranian too.  "You D/S?"

   "Not yet," I shrugged, "But I'll save that." for when I feel like it. 
The killer, not him, didn't use bondage, but physical restraint, finger,
and thumb bruises on hir forearms.

   I skipped ahead, led him right past the bare cinderblock walls of the
Dungeon, it's inquizitional seating, racks of toys.  Not the bower, either,
past the locker room.  There is no other bathroom, toilets along the wall,
no stalls.  A man in chaps is pissing in one of them.  I kind of have to
turn myself on, and it can take a while at this age.

   But the gym looks nice.  A "Gym," you'd have to bring weights, and stuff
in to actually work out.  I sat down, the first time I been in here.  "No,"
he froze with the door half open, "Don't close it." That way, if something
goes wrong, there's witnesses, help right away.

   "Aight," not like the black pronounciation, but not a Dialect I was
familiar with.  "Do you have a safe word?"

   "No?" never needed one before.

   "You understand that it's the all stop to end the scene if you get
overwhelmed?" he said formally.  Concent is never assumed here, it says
that next to the door.

   "Yes." I said explicitly, and nodded.  I don't know when, or how I chose
the bottom, probly when I set down.  One of them overhead pull down cable
machines, it had heavy duty cuffs for the handles.

   "I like 'Kaput'," he said.

   "Works for me," I looked down.

   "I have to hear you say it," he stood back, arms crossed over the
unbuttoned front of his jacket.  Turtleneck underneath, the lights in here
were florescent, brought out the sky blue under the Navy, made his hazel
eyes look bluer.

   "If I say 'Kaput'," get it out there, "Stop."

   "Right," he took a step foreward, and behind him I saw people gathering
at the door.  The first exhibitionist thing I done by choice, I sighed, and
accepted this was a night for learning.  "Now I'm going to bind you," he
reached out over me, to the hanging cuffs, and pulled them down with a
tight rasping sound.  "Ok?"

   "Yes," to move things along, "I want you to tie me up." I was actually
getting excited!  His pants so close, I could smell him, his colone, not
flowery at all.

   "Hold these," he handed me the cuffs, "Here." Not only padded with heavy
royal blue cloth, the connection to the cable was as well, several inches
up.  "Viiiiip!" he pulled it tight, my arms up over me, holding onto the
handles.

   "Hold on," I watched him take one of the cuffs, wrap it around my wrist,
pull the velcro tongue through, and wrap it around securely.  "Not to
tight?" didn't feel to bad, kind of warm, safe, not scary at all.

   "Yeah," I nodded.  He secured the other one, and I relaxed, just hanged
there.  He twisted something down behind me, locking the cable tight.  I
could pull as hard as I wanted, but he squatted in front of me.  I could
feel more cuffs, hear velcro ripping.

   I closed my eyes, and breathed.  Before, I could jump, kick, stand up to
get enough slack and undo the cuffs, but he also raised the seat back,
"clip"ed and tightened a broad padded belt between my hips, and my ribs. 
"Comfortable?"

   I never been tied up likeat before.  Even my daddys, and the other men
just held me, bigger, an stronger'n me, and kept me locked up, but in a
room.  I could get up, try to get out, but now, he could just leave me,
tied up there, and there'd be nothing I can do.  I tried reaching the
buckles on my wrists, but they were too broad, against my wrists so I can't
bend them enough.

   He was watching my eyes.  I Trusted him, smiling a little, but concern
in his eyes, reassuring, empathy from him, a stranger.  "Yeah," but now I
felt bound, helpless, people watching me.  A little girl under a man's arm.
Xavier, his hand on her breast, both watching intently, other arm comming
around front to mollest her.

   Colin walked back, turned around, and dropped his jacket on the press
bench in the center of the room.  No tie to loosen, he untucked his turtle
neck, smiled, and pulled it over his head.  Nice, light fur on his chest,
kind of a triangle of waves, not curls.  Good muscle, traction for pulling,
thick round biceps, but not much triceps, or pectorali.  Wirey forearms,
ripling with tension while his fingers worked, in front of him, undoing his
pants.

   Mine felt tight, and as they slid heavily down, I saw a nice bulge in
his tight light blue shorts.  He stepped out of them, walked toward me,
swinging cantilevered.  I like dick, doesn't have to be huge, but his is
bigger than mine.  Reddish complection, especially full of blood,
circumcized head bulging redly, like a bell.

   "What would you like?" he turned, swiveling on his feet to show his
thigh from the side, butt tight behind it, dick full lenth from the side. I
licked my lips, it had been a while, since I'd been with a man.  I couldn't
reach for him, move at all.

   "I want that," I nodded, mouth open, "I wanna suck your dick."

   "Aright," he grinned, turning, running his hand up his thigh.  In the
other one, he already had a condom out, unwrapped.  He rolled it on with a
finger, and thumb, pushing through his fist, right for my mouth.

   "Agh!" My breath caught, and I felt my lips seal, cheeks bulge slightly
from trapped air.  I sucked in, wrapping them around, pushing my mouth
foreward.  The rubbery taste is distracting, but it's the rules, not out of
place in here.  Benedict next to the plaque, arm up on the door frame, half
a smile under her crooked nose.

   That was before my view was blocked by his hips, flat muscular midrift,
pubic curls brushing the tip of my nose.  "Mmm!" I could smell him, sweat,
masculine.  I tipped up, shifting his hips, the angle of him in my mouth. I
could look up at him, the stripe of hair up his muscular abdomen to the
navel, his grin, the arousal in his eyes.

   He pulled back, sliding out on my tongue.  His fingers in my hair,
strong hands, gently pressing me, guiding my head, sliding back in my
mouth. Warm, but not meaty flavor because of that damned barrier.  How I
wanted to taste him, feel him burst in my mouth, the thick tangy spurt of
his cum.

   His chest on my hands, in his, arms curled in front like wings.  His
breath, heartbeat againts my pinkys.  Sliding down my arms, around my
shoulders, fingers in my hair,..

   But he pulled out, pointed at me, and I panted, wanting to wipe my
mouth. Real intense, the bondage it'self, overpowering, but not quite too
intense now that I could breathe, say the safe word again.  But I didn't.

   Sinking down to set on my legs, hands busy between them, getting me
open, out.  Strong hands, petting me, but not crushing, or rough with
callouses.  Warm on my bare skin, my hardness, stroking gently.  He had to
pull my hips foreward, while I lifted my butt to get them down.  He stroked
me one handed, tore open another prophylactic with his teeth.

   Everbody was watching, standing around, sitting, kissing, petting,
opening clothes, and reaching inside.  Even Ashe, Molly behind her.  The
little white fairy looked real turned on, fascinated, but Molly just had
eyes for her.  Bene' winked, smirked.

   "Uh!" his lips felt so warm, sliding on the dry rubber in his fingers,
smoothing it tight with his tongue.  I closed my eyes, man he could give
some damn head.  "Huhh!" it was hard to breathe, my ribs held out by my
arms, still hanging above me.  I was at his mercy, his mercifull mouth.

   I wanted to reach down, touch him, feel his hair in my fingers, head
pulling back, lips tight, sucking till my cute little head bulged in his
mouth.  He lapped at it, the latex squeeky, and my hips twitched.  Not an
orgasm, yet, but almost as intense.  "Gah!"

   I looked down, felt him raise his chin, a little scrape of teeth through
the barrier.  Not at all bad like a bite, he smiled, looking at me.  His
mouth full, double wink.  I could feel it, cute crescent dimples popped in
around his lips.  His hands under me, thumbs around my tighs, pressing my
scrotum, perenium.

   I slid foreward to his gentle pulling, sucked back in, head comming down
to his throat, twitching around my latex coated glans.  He swallowed,
rubber squeek making me twitch again, tongue sliding back, and forth. 
"ohh!" I moaned, felt his thumb slide down, glove tip rolling on my
perenium.

   I'd been touched there before, but not since I was a boy.  Even Charley
just let me fuck him, never stuck anything in me.  "Do you consent?" he let
my dick fall hard, shiny on my belly.

   "Yes," not just ready, "please." I wanted it, him to, "Please fuck me."

   "Relax," he smiled, rubbed my, me there.  I don't like the whole shit
aspect, but I'm a guy.  There's only one way to fuck me, and it had been so
long, I had forgotten what it feels like.  Back in his mouth, his thumb was
dry, just rubbing, relaxing me without penetration.

   It felt so good, the twinges from it traveling up my dick, in his mouth,
sucking skillfully.  Now, I'm pretty good at it, but I had so much to
learn. He used the rubber, as the name suggests, the distinctive texture,
clingy friction, and before I knew what was happening, my perinococcx
muscle twitched against his thumbs.

   "Uh!" I gasped for breath, felt the rush of oxygen, pleasure up over me.
My rectal sphincter pulsed, like a cervex, kissing the ball of his thumb,
bunching the dry latex.  He sucked, the tip bulging, filling with the wet
splashes.

   "Huh, huh!" I panted, hunched reflexivley as he carefully pulled it off.
It squeeked around my ultrasensitive glans.  Holding the ring tight, he
squeesed the last thick gob out, pinching the head, sealing the rubber
sleeve at the bottom.  Hunching foreward, my butt rolled ack from the edge,
pulling closed.

   Standing up, he swung stiffly next to me, pale with the latex coating.
He adjusted the seat back, so I was almost laying, the tention on the cable
behind me.  But now I could slide foreward, to the edge, my legs wide as
the machine's, exposed.

   He grinned, held gloved fingers under my loosened hole, and squeezed it
out.  It rolled down, warm, wet.  His tongue lolled, thick throat spit
hanging.  "Llpt!" it fell, slapped on my relaxed scrotom, rolled down
slowly.  I relaxed, let him work his gloved pinky in, didn't feel any nail.

   He twisted slightly, maybe 1/8th turn, then back, and forth, a 6th, 5th,
quarter, third, all the way over, his first knuckle passing through, into
me.  I just breathed, not too deep, let my breath catch up.  Don't tense,
damn!  He just stopped, smiled, and wiggled a little.  Backing out a skosh,
it slipped in even more, and he worked in the next joint.

   "Uh!" I closed my eyes, let my head fall back on the seat.  "Huhuhuh!"
shallow shuttering breaths, the gentle scrape of his pinky tip on my
Prostate.  Adult, fully developed, I never knew what that felt like, right
after an orgasm, my soft milked dicky twitching inside.  "Whuh!"

   He pulled back, worked another finger in, then switched to his thumb.  I
kind of drifted off, not unconcious, but off to la la land where there's
not light, nor sound, just sensation.  Two fingers now, "walking" in me,
tapping on my prostate, and it was almost as good as comming, just
differnt.

   He pulled out, standing up on his knees, hands in front of him, petting
himself hard.  "Yes," my heart beat hard, and fast, expectantly.  I pulled
on the cuffs, lifted, spreading my thighs around his hips.  "Oh, god," I
could feel him, "YeS!" pressing, sliding in in one long slow thrust.  "ei!"
I think, a little breathless squeek.

   He pulled back, and I sighed.  "Plop." The wet smack of his hips against
me.  My scrotum bunching up on his pubic fur, sticking to my soft dicky,
lolled to the side.  "Plop," Long, slow deep thrusts, carefull not to pull
out, or punch in, tear my rectal wall.  I didn't think about such things,
the risks, what can happen if you do it wrong.

   "Plop," my scrotom shaking, "pop," falling back slack, "plap."

   "Ahh," his breath tight, "Yeah!" To tell the truth, I was starting to
get bored with it, climbing back out to reality.

   Ashe was staring at me, head to the side, smiling.  People were openly
fucking now, and sucking, not quite an orgy, but scattered couples, a
trebel, all adding to the decadent mood of the scene.

   "Uh!" he pulled out, it off, splashing out his orgasm on my belly. 
"Uhuhuhuh!"

   I looked down, watched the wet spurts, not even stroking, just holding
it like a hose, aiming it at my navel.  "Ah fuck yeah!" he breathed,
gasped, bent over me to lap it up.  I don't have no belly hair, just a dark
brush on my pubis, so I think he got it all, dug the last out of my navel
with his tongue.

   Then he unBound my hands, the door clear for him to walk out, naked,
muscular dancer's ass clenching side-to side.  I caught my breath, stripped
off my clothes, and followed him around.  He turned next door, into the
locker room, and I heard water before I came around to see in.

   I closed the door, didn't lock it in case someone needed the toilet,
urinal, or bidet.  "Mind if I join you?"

   "No problem," he stepped back, handed my the shower head.  Nice, and
warm, we washed each other.  "How was that?"

   "Fine," I turned, stood wide, felt the water splashing up behind me. 
Just great, actually, I concidered it a personal break through.  After we
were clean, and dry, we went back to get dressed.  A lot of the rooms were
taken, but the gym was open.

   Every aparatus was in use, a bi/strait couple holding someone cuffed to
the weightless bench.  Our clothes were folded up on the side, under the
mirrored wall.  The cable machine was being used by a dominatrix, and her
collared sub, bound to the butterfly attachment.

   All safe, concentual, Colin headded for the dance floor, and I went out
for a cigarette.  "Was that okay?" I asked Bene' self conciously.

   "Yeah," she chuckled, palmed something, "Real hot." I caught a skunky
whiff over the spicey tang in the air.

   "Is that a clove?" Ashe turned, "I thought they was illegal."

   "Yeah," she held it out, draped in her fingers like a roach in a pair of
bent nose foceps, "But clove oil isn't." Long, and thin, a slim 120, it was
darkened by spots.  Almost like Kaiser Sosa' {The Usual Suspects} only
without supporting the filter with her thumb.

   "You make your own," easy enough with a needle.  Perfect to the Core,
her persona was as internally concistant as a delusion.

   The sodium vapor made her eyebrows, and hair look a little yellow, but
the only lamp in the alley, the rest dark around us either way to the ends,
one covered with chain link.

   It silloetted anyone comming, though, and the couple kissing against the
chainlink.  I couldn't tell which side, they were in shadow, the tall one
holding the other's hands over him, legs stretched by pointy looking heels.

   Ashe (GM NS)

   We never got to talk after the other night, so after she got bored
watching that creepy asian guy getting fucked, I followed her out.

   She smoked weed, good stuff smelled like, and offered me some, but I
didn't need to fuzz up my head.  The alcahol loosened me up, helped me
danse even without the low grade hallucinogen, but I didn't want to get
sick, or nothing.

   I reached up to her face, the most girly looking part of her.  Not rough
at all, no stubble, or shaving, but almost pretty.  "What happened?" I ran
my thumb down her nose.

   She shrugged, "When I was in the service, I used to bounce for the NCO
club.  This Officer got to drunk, and I had to kick him out." She winced
with the memory, "The doctors said they could re-set it, straight, but it
hurt too much."

   I let my hand slip down to her shoulder, a masochist, I think, but a
broken nose isn't sexy pain, and she might've been more vanilla back then.
I ran my finger across her throat, "And this?" a surgical scar.

   "When I was a little girl," her voice buzzed under my thumb, "I got
thyroid cancer, and they had to take them out."

   "Is that how you got so big?" Like that Nails song after Closer {PL#9,
Ruiner}

   "Yeah," she swallowed, "I had to take growth hormones to develop, after
I got done with Chemo, and evrything." Evrybody says 'ever', like Billy, or
'evry', like me, and Benny, almost never 'Every.' Anyway, "I started early,
but stayed on them late, so it came out more like male puberty.

   "Uh huh," I kept petting the scar, so like one of mine.

   "How 'bout you?" She touched me, my tummy, the long line under the
gausey fabric.

   I sighed, "Kinda like you," thought of a good story on the fly, "I was
born with other, congenital disorders sides the Albinism." She watched my
eyes, but didn't catch the lie.  "I had a Uterine growth," not a Cancer,
turned out to be a Gemini, "And they took it all out, from the Cervex up.

   "Did you take hormones?" my body, it's that obvious.

   "Uh huh!" I looked her in the eyes, "To grow like you, but I didn't get
no bigger, just more developed." I left out most of it, my brother, father,
and doctor.  Our daughter, Genevy.

   Anyway, Billy come out, and we shut up.  I don't know why I trusted her
that much, with that much of the truth, but Billy was something else.  I'm
not sure what, yet.

   I waited for HEr to go in, "I coulda toldja he wasn't the guy you're
looking for."

   "Pardon?" he sipped his ultralight menthol to cover his mouth with his
fingers, "I don't understand whut you're talking about."

   Hiding the cigarette too, like a middle school kid back behind the
portables, he dressed the part.  More like Kindergarden, blue ballcap,
yellow shirt, green overalls that should've been Labled [Oshkosh] red
canvas Allstars, evrything in Crayola Colors, not neon, xept in the
flashing ultraviolet dark of the club.

   "Right," pretty good, but he can't lie to me, "You're not a cop, but I
know why you're here."

   "That right?" he turned away, looked up the alley, "What's that?"

   "You're asking questions," I noticed, "Not about the murder, of course,
but around it."

   "What do you know about it?" he nodded, took another drag.

   I shrug, "not much," not a lie, "More than evryone else, nobody saw him,
he never even came in."

   "You were here," he noted, "Though."

   "You missed the fight," I made conversation, "Last week."

   "Yeah?" he seemed interested.

   "Yeah," I grinned, "Big Benny," the bouncer, "and hir girlfreind."

   "What happened?" a little too curious, about his victim.

   "She didn't want to work," I remember, "Thought she could get out of it,
go to a party instead, but Benny wouldn't let her, so she quit."

   "They were lovers?" he guessed, "Lesbian?"

   "Yeah," he wanted her, Big Benny, but now knew he wasn't her type. 
Good, he would have to go for me.  Already wasted time, that should have
been me last week, not her.  Winter, "My first night." I pulled my fleece
cloak tighter, "He, and Benny had a fight, and I guess she walked out."

   "So you knew he was a transexual?" he noted.

   "Uh huh," he had the looks, but not the moves, or dress sence.  "You're
investigating it?"

   "You seem to have an intrest," I didn't try to hide it.

   "Yeah," I caught his eyes, "I'm kinda into serial killers, especially
the sexually motivated ones." Oriental, squinty so you can't see them,
what's in them.

   "Huh," he looked me up, and down, but one of the few who ain't turned on
by it, "What do you think?"

   He's gay, "Idaknow," from what I saw.  "He seems to like the whole
switch thing, pretending to be something you're not and all that."

   "You don't do that," he lied.

   "Nope," I flicked my smoke off, "I lay it all out there." He finished
too, and was starting to hunch in his coat.  Benny took them, and I noticed
the weight in a pocket of his.  A weapon?  Just a cheap single breasted
taupe blazer, it matched his "nobody in particular" outfit.

   He usually dresses like a serial killer, trying not to.  Tonite, he
looked like a child pornstar, dancing with that guy.  What's his name, he
fought me for the dance floor, like the fag he is, and took it back while I
was out smoking.

   "You like men," I kept up the conversation.  No need to danse when I
knew for a fact He wasn't here.  The regulars were used to me, only Molly
really watched anymore.

   "Yeah," he guessed, "some ovem." I sat down at one of the tables.  He
sat across, and a coctail "waitress" dropped off some drinks.  They ran out
of Absynthe, it was a Halloween thing, then while supplies lasted, and I
wasn't the only one that drank it.

   He had a beer, "Martini?"

   I swirled the cherry in the anisette, "Ouzo."

   "You're right," he nodded, "he seems to get off on throwing the switch,
that's his control."

   "You a pshrink?" it would explain certain things, like being able to
affect personalities, or he could be an actor, or faux paire sykomimik.

   "Cognitive pathologist," he shook his head.

   I giggled, "Sounds like a cult," the way he said it.

   "It's more of a philosophy," he spread his hands, "A method of
thinking." I can't tell whether he doesn't have an expression, or if I just
don't recognise it.  Definitely diffrent.

   "How's it work?" I pulled the cherry out by the stem without really
thinking about it.

   "Well, first you determine the state of mind, then you can extrapolate
back, or possibly foreward along a similar line of thought."

   "Really?" I spit the knotted stem in the glass, it was truly
fascinating.

   "Yeah," he nodded, "You know he's gotta be thinking this, so you try to
think of the natural course he'd go from there."

   Pretty close to the way I do it, "Like Profiling," how I got there.

   "I know the profiler who developed it," he shrugged, "But I'm just an
amateur."

   "So you follow serial cases too," I think he was bragging that he solved
some.

   "Mostly sexual predators," no, not bragging.  "Pedophiles."

   "You were abused," no body language, decent self image, even a little
hystrionic about it.

   "Yeah," by men, "You ever hear about those sex tourism laws?"

   Extremely interesting, "Uh huh?"

   "Well, sometimes they come back with children," he explained, "Like from
Thailand."

   "Oh," he's an ex sex slave.

   "Yeah, so I was in some childporn," not even a blink, comfortable about
it, "Then I worked as a private detective, but I had all this money from
the childporn, so..."

   "You kept the money?" sociopath.  I mean, that's pretty fucking cold.

   "I got awarded it in court as the victim," he sat back, crossed his
legs, turned his head, finally showed something.  "Pretty important
precident, actually." Ok, kinda nerdy, though.

   "Anyways, that was, like thirtythree thousand a year for a while, and
payed tuition for a criminal justice degree, so I just traced back my case,
and brought my fathers to justice."

   Billy {MG NS}

   I don't know why I just layed out my life story likeat, but hey, she was
a good listner, and seemed real intrested.  "What about you?" I wondered.

   "Well," she looked it up, "I grew up with my dad, and big sister, and I
wasn't mollested, or anything, but dad really looked at us girls,
especially when we started growing up, and talked about it a lot."

   Truth, lie, lie, truth, truth, and truth.  Real entertaining to watch,
she didn't avoid eye contact, or show any other self conciousness, but made
a point to look you in the eye when she lied.

   Sex night, at the morning star, the music wasn't up that high, and it
wasn't real crouded around.  Molly was dancing with a punk rock Grrl, and
her neon candy kid girlfrend.  Interesting couple, the butch sub to the
neon lipstick Domme, but a dead end for me any way I approached it.

   "White an english name?" I know for a fact it's an alias.

   She nodded, "And Jewish." I tried to confirm it in her face.  The
problem is her undeveloped looking features, and complete lack of color
masked any of those typical racial markers.  Big round eyes, brows, and
lashes only visible by their shadows in the lurid frantic lighting, and the
underglow.

   Little custer of nose, maybe Keltic/Semitic, pink lips, huge round
glowing cheeks.  Practicly naked, not even the belt, and bracelet combo
over black underwear, matching pumps.  The body, Idaknow.

   "You pedophilic?" Ok, don't stop talking and just stare likeat.

   I shrug, "Ageplay," look away, but I'd seen more than enough to be
puzzled.  Take a girl, a child, and specificly develop the parts that make
her a woman.  "I haven't had sex with a child sence I was one."

   She's looking at me, straight in the eyes, and didn't change position
since last time I looked.  "You like kids?" Coquettish, not explicity
sexual, but implicit.  The outfit made it graphic, though, the fact that
she had her ancle up on the knee, arm propped up, but wide to expose the
torso.

   "Idaknow," I looked her in the eyes, "I never been around them." I let
her try to see, see her realise something in her's.

   "Me neither," I wondered who'd look away first, "They're a pain."
Despite some resemblance, she's at least not like Connie.  Both are blonde,
I noticed a yellow undertone to her eyebrows out front.  Not even albino,
but an entertaining liar in a place full of them.

   All of a sudden, I realised out of all the people I knowed who she
reminded me of.  That conniving cunt Connie, the almost mythical female
child mollestor.  Blonde, and blue, but Connie grew up, into a woman, while
she stayed a little girl, somehow.

   Another female sexual sociopath, I was sure of it.  Once is an instance,
twice a coincidence, three times a pattern.  There are, of course, female
pedophiles, but it's so underreported even some profilers dismiss the idea
out of hand.

   "Talk to ya later," I got up, and went to the dance floor.  Colin was
just showing off now, and I hadto learn this sometime.

   "Hang on," he put his hands on my hips, "You're not built for swinging,
do that with your shoulders.  I tried to keep the beat, didn't do anything
too advanced, like taking a step.

   "There," he set a nice fucking motion, "Same rythm, you know this one
right?"

   "Yeah," he turned around.

   "We'll work from there," he looked over his shoulder, so I swung mine,
put my hand on his hip.

   Ashe slunk up around him, turned to run her hand up Molly's tummy. 
Looking shocked, her eyebrows went up over her goggles.  Both moving in
time, her white nails slipped up the side of her face.

   One other female sexual sociopath, like Connie, or that man raper Kenny
partnered up with.  'Virginia Ligget', AKA Victoria, 'Tory, Ginny, and
hundreds of other aliases, three is enough to see the pattern.  Males
channel it into violence, but women are conniving, and affect it through
sex.

   Amoral, and inethical, they use it instead of a weapon, don't fight, but
fuck their victims into submission, emasculate them if male, or chose
already imasculate victims, like children.  Liggett chose men, didn't
castrate them, but threatened it, actually created a serial rapist of her
own with her sexual conditioning.

   But Ashe, or whatever her name is, follow the path foreward with the
unofficial profile of a personality type not recognised by the psychiactric
community.  Scarred, self mutilating from the {VICTIM} cut into her left
arm, right handed.

   But not that surgical scar, she actually hides it, ashamed, and so
healed over I needed the obscured navel to draw attention to it in the
lurid lights of the club.  Carved out inside, that had to be what made her.
A childhood uterodectomy, looked like, she can't get pregnant, and
therefore can be as slutty as she wants.

   The nineties, if she's honest about her age, even the 80s, and 2000s
saturated with AIDS, even herpies, or HPV a serious threat to her. 
Nihilistic, it would be fitting to be killed by sex, ultimately, and she
would understand that.

   Instead of morays, a sense of poetic justice, like Connie progressing
from childporn, and the Babysitter racket to running her own not for profit
prostitot ring, mollesting the children to get them all red cheeked for
those damned "For The Children" vidios.

   Or Liggett, raped, and humiliated, cross dressing as a child, then
attracting stereotypical men to rape, and domineer.  Like the construction
worker that eventually got her caught.  He never said a word about it,
eventually confessed to attempted rape.

   But I saw the tape of her interrogation by Dr.  Kenny Jenkins.  The
original Cognitive Pathologist, he opened her up, and she eventually
bragged about binding him, hands, and genitals to force an erection, raping
him in the back of his van, then taking him back to finish the jobsite.

   Ashe (GF Dom Saph FF {for FingerFuck})

   Idaknow, he's weird.  What if I'm looking for the wrong guy?  I mean, I
followed one here, and he struck right on schedule, but nobody saw him. 
Like Legerdemain, I know the guy I followed ain't a gay asian looking
mexican with a redneck accent.

   But what if I got it wrong, the "cogniitive pathology," and picked up a
copycat.  That was too much excalation, even for Halloween, and Kat looked
like a woman, but couldn't pull off the act.  She left crying, maybe sat
down, just got in his car, and stayed vulnerable.

   Or, he knew what he had.  A boy playing dressup, the Dominatrix costume,
Katoninetails for SM, but not a dominant bone in hir body.  Hold that up ta
billy, what I saw him do, and his vulnerability after just having raw gay
bondage sex in fronta everbody.

   How many serial sex criminals are we taking here, five?  Like the magnum
killer, the papers called him "dirty harry," but comeon.  That guy wasn't
Clint, but a scared little man hiding behind a big gun.  A midlife crisis
fueled by homophobic self loathing, and paranoia.

   Starting to escalate, fucked the last one with the gun instead of making
him suck it.  The weight in his jacket, maybe a revolver, but not no .44
mag.  But that was the wrong kind of closet, a barred cell to lock up your
inner faggot.  Billy had a glass closet, "lookat me everbody!"

   Up there on the dance floor, finally getting a lesson.  Could he be a
Thatch?  I didn't see the work, but the news said raped, and tortured to
death, didn't release the trans part.  I asked around, he was pre-op, went
on a Gender Bender his first night, fucked evrybody, then went to the
hospital.

   Benny said she took Viagra for the erectile dysfunction, tried Cialis,
but you know how in the commercials they say to seek medical attention if
you get one for more than 4 hours?  Well, they put her back on Viagra,
anyway.  That gives me some idea of Kat, submissive, but a gender switch.

   Her killer picked up on that, but gay, or bi, maybe that didn't set him
off.  First time, overkill, maybe he wasn't going for snuff, but overdid
it, killed her too quick.  The news let slip that the rape was after she
was dead.  Bloody, he cut her, maybe him into a her.  That's a lot of
blood, around there, so he's not a medical professional, but amature.  He
botched it, and she died.

   He's getting confident, comming in, having sex.  Not cured, that's not a
one time deal, but he thinks he's de-escalated somehow, back to play.  He
chose to be tied up, couldn't trigger with evryone watching, even Benny,
and Molly.

   I'll show him, took a while for the club to get going tonite, but he
payed his dues in full giving it that kick in the nuts.  Now it was my
turn. Molly's not my type, but the way she played music for me, played with
me musicly, I guessed she earned it too.

   The techno kid was on the tables, the laptop closed down, but I didn't
want to get a room.  They're there for our convenience, privacy if we want
it, but not mandatory.  Reaching up, the staples in her hair caught on my
nails, but I'd replace them.  At the back, I felt the thick twist of her
tail, like a cock wrapped in hair, getting thinned, and thinner with a bow
on the end.

   What if He was ere, watching?  The other night wit Bene', and tonight,
playing Lesbian.  Tat would only turn him on more, being male, turning
another table.  An escalation not being able to be more brutal, sadistic.

   I pulled it loose with my other hand, dropped the ribbon in front of
her, and gently led her off by the tail.  There had to be more than a yard
of it, she kept up so I didn't pull it.  I stopped, stretched out my arm to
lead her around a booth.  Stepping up on the table, I pushed her back
gently onto the couch.

   I danced for her, the raver setting up a decent grove, but not
progressive enough for me.  I wished she were playing, but I guessed she'd
need her hands, the plug draped over her like a cybersnake.  I ran my hands
up my skirt, thighs with my hips working.

   She sat back, smiling, that "ima gonna git some!" grin evrybody gets.  I
kick my foot out of my shoe, step down lightly, kicking up my other foot
bare, and slip it out in front of me.  She catches it, holds it, and I
cover a wobble with a shimmy.

   I lift my big toe, put it right between her eyes, and gently lift the
goggles.  I take her eyes in mine, hold them, bunching my dress up, and
pull it between us in a flash.  She lets go, and I bend after it, dropping
over her.  Almost before I see her face, my knees hit the cushions, and I
pin her hips with mine.

   Her eyes wide, I take her head in my hands, carefully run my fingers
back through her braids, and the barbs in them.  My thumbs catch the
mirrored globes, and I slip the strap off to slide down her hair.  I kiss
her, force my tongue in her mouth, flick it on her teeth to strike hers,
watch her eyebrows pop up in surprise.

   Grinding into her, the slick vynil plasticky on me, warming, wetting. 
"Mrhaw!" I turn, my little nose past her big rushin one, rolling my tongue
one her's.  I don't need to control myself, I'm not going to hurt her, kill
her, show them who I am.

   Just a glimpse, of who she's dealing with, what kind of predator had
her, she slips her tongue in, and I bite it.  Not real hard, just a nip,
but she snaps it back in.  I grab her shirt, pull her, lifting my leg to
turn, almost throw her over on the table.

   I can almost stand back, and see it, everbody's watching now.  Maybe I'm
gay, after all I been through, maybe I can love, a woman.

   Billy {GF Domm Saph Cunn Feti ExVo}

   At some point, you're just showing off.  Used to being the center of
attention, I upstaged her earlier, and she had to do something.  I turned
my chair around, ordered another, and set back.

   A lesbian rapist?  She'd led Bach on for more than a week, working
herself up like a serial killer.  He was out there, somewhere, probably
jerking off to the memory, possibly starting to plan his next one.  Still
too early for him to come back, actually in, but it wasn't Friday yet.

   Molly didn't kick, and scream, but I wasn't sure about how much she bent
the concent rules.  Looking up, Bene' brought her stool in out of the
closet, and kept an ear on the door.

   Ashe practicly threw her on the table, tail rolling around, and off the
edge, pulling straight.  In her pleather underwear, it was shiny in the
club lights.  Holding her face, she rolled her studded head back on the
hard surface, running her body up her face.

   Molly's eyes were wide, then shut as the tiny white hand clamped on her
tail, pulling her up into the tight shiny black triangle.  Not rough,
enough for anyone to be hurt, but demanding, insistant.  He acted it up,
stroking the tail between her legs like a cock.

   I blinked, momentarilly distracted by the phallic display.  She had no
navel, or looked like it in the lurid light.  A homonculous, she had to
have some kind of glandular condition.  Running her hands up, lifting her
hair to let it cascade down, she looked like a characature.

   Her neck to long, and thin to support her head, half the width of her
shoulders.  Each black bulge strapped to her chest almost as large, and
disproportionate, she had a child's torso on a woman's hips, grinding into
the DJ's face.

   She reached up to that vest she always wore, snapped open the flap of a
pocket, and pulled out a ziplock.  Ashe plopped down, saw the long skinny
plastic baggy packed with among other things, a latex glove, and lube. 
Ashe pouted, but Bene' took a step foreward, large fist on hir broad hips.

   All an act, part of the show, the Ashley White spectacal, I watched the
crowd, getting bored.  Turning my back, I walked up the steps to the dance
floor for another lesson.

   I thought about Ashe, dressed all princess, but queening up the danse
floor.  Yeah, this isn't a game, but she could ruin it, and who do I know
to counter a white queen?

   Knight

   I checked K3, took them with me anyway.  Still can't be to carefull, or
prepaired.  Yeah, I could probly knock his head off bare handed, but what
if somebody decides to jump me, recognises me and calls the Cops?

   He don't say it, but crossloads the navigation point to my phone.  I
seen drug dealers pick up that trick, if they tappin you, they miss the
text, or email, or whatever.  He knew it years before I met him, for all I
know, he came up with it.  You know the old school?  He got tenure.

   Anyway, it's in north Oakland, right off the bridge from the peninsula,
almost to Berkely.  I ain't superstitios, but it was friday, the 13th. 
Another one of those significant datums, even if you don't beleive in it,
people out there do, and go nuckin futz, just like a full moon.

   And this was defnitely wacko land, the hookers is trannys, leather, and
chains, whip yo ass tied to a bed.  Around the corner, the parkin lot and
Billy's SUV.  He flashes his lights, gets out, and I pull up on the drivers
sides, like cops on break.

   Now, I know he ain't straight.  He says it's not gay, per se, but he
also says there's all diffrent kindsa diffrent.  I don't get how he thinks.
Anyway, it aint Halloween no more, but he's all done up in drag.

   I seen him do it before.  He don't get pleasure from it, it's just one
of his tricks.  I never seen him in all black before though, like his hair,
and eyes.

   Ok, it's a dress, with sleeves, and tights.  Even makes his skin look
lighter, but it still don't glow in the club lights, like most people.  No,
that's makeup, white face, making him look like chinese.  A wig, long, but
tied up in braids on the sides.

   I closed my door, felt kinda trapped in by his, and the cars.  It's a
defensible position, but I'm not comfortable sharing it with a guy in a
dress.

   "Hey Billy," a massive woman held the door for him.  "Who's your
freind?"

   "3K," I lifted my sunglasses.

   "Really?" she just held out her hand, and looked at me.  I shook it, but
she just stared.  Damn, I wanted to test that grip, maybe wrestle that arm
later.  "The 3K."

   "Yeah," I shrugged, and grinned, "Sorry." A play from Billy's passive
agressive style.

   She grinned back, "Great!" and I stepped into complete weirdness.  Like
another planet, alien people.  Human bodies, and faces, but not clothes,
hair, makeup.

   Doing inhuman things, a man walking bound, but smiling.  His collar
chained to a severe lookin bitch, her wrist hanging back.  She had horns,
and he had wings, feathers hanging white from rings in his back.  Men, and
women, and others, talking, and kissing in evry possible couple, tripple,
more.

   No sex out here, but heavy petting.  Glipmses of nudity, obscene graphic
displays of affection, abuse, pleasure in it.  I don't belong there, trust
anyone, except Young.  Even he fit in a little too good, too much like
them, and not human enough in his whensday outfit.

   Camoflage, pretty much the only way he could blend in.  I caught up to
him, so I didn't loose him in the crowd.  Friday, the thirteenth, but these
are the ones you see evryday, alone, and happy with it, moping, or smoking,
or writing, or drawing, or just watching.  Being seen, like gargoyles.

   The music goin all "Mmrouow," but a beet commin up, hiphop, almost
familiar.

   Benedict {TM Fant, Drug, Musi TG Dild Fist}

   Mmm, darkmeat.  I'm not much of a mourning person, and it'd been weeks.
All right, two, but I skipped denial, and bargaining, and made record time
for acceptance.  And I have needs, the shop could use the publicity of a
celebrity visit, much less member, and I could really use a man.

   Not a girl with a dick, or a wounded little oriental, much less a
conflicted goth chick, no matter how cool.  I needed a change, and this was
the opposite, or the closest I could cum next to me.  A real man, I always
thought of myself as a damsel in shining armor.  A Knightess, maybe not in
distress, or white.

   The darkness suits me better anyway, a little tarnish instead of boring
old prince fucking charming.  A hero with a heart of iron, a steel cock. 
The brown leather coat, stylish, setting off his dark skin, even in the
lights.

   Following Billy with gracefull power to the danse floor.  Ashe ignoring
them, a slave to the musik, {PL#10} "Cannibal Song".  Queening up the danse
floor, red underwear, and ribbons, in her hair.  Rocking out to the
metelectronik jam, cybergoth, rivet death.  The Ks grovin along, head
picking it up with the overlap, another track skillfully beatmatched by the
DJ.

   Molly {sign}ed to me.

   {?} pointing to the danse floor.

   I held up {3} fingers, then dropped two to the side, {K}

   {!} I LOLled, and turned back to the door.

   Murz spelled it out for evryone else.  "H.U.S.T.L.E.  Hussler,.." He
hipped, and hopped, and I stepped out for a smoke.  One of my cigars, it
was all clear till I pulled the tobbacco out, and packed what made it a
"Jewel." The birchwood tip, somebody showed up with a cig.  {(Tm) Hav A
Tampa.}

   "Thanks," Members, they knew about the rules, and went in without it. 
Instead of putting it out, I got one more look around, and stuck the red
tip in my token peice.  The skunky smoke filled my lungs, and I heald it,
flicking away the butt.

   "Hhhhuh!" I coughed, and felt it spread warmly, the goose bumps going
away even in the chill air.

   "Cut these eyes, and I will see," I sang to myself.  "Kiss these lying
lips for me." Ashe's, actually.  "Stroke this skin," arms pumping, "and I
will kneel." Stabbing into me, "Brutalize me," jerking it back out, "I will
heal!" In both hands, faster, and stronger than I thought possible.

   I tried to hold back, started to, but she could take it.  She looks
Fragile{PL#9}, but she's indestructible, unbreakable, I let loose like I
hadn't in a long time.  My fingers in her, nails polished, beveled smooth
back from the quick.

   Scarred, the big one all of the way down her tummy.  From the bottom of
the breast bone to the top of her pelvis, she was carved out, hollow
inside. Whatever I could sense missing came out through there.  And her
pussy.

   Her clit is so small it wouldn't be exposed if it still had a hood.  The
scars from the circumcision held it up, peeking out of her fat childish
lips.  I vageuly remembered mine being like that, as if my butt came all
the way around the front to pee too.

   Her arms came down, felt my face, and hair.  The left one had [Victim]
cut into it, but the scars were old.  Her dagger, a skelital Gerber river
runner {(c) Legendary Blades} with the spring clip cut, or snapped off.  In
her belt, the small of her back, I gave it back to her.

   What the fuck, it was a bit of a releif to be perfectly frank.  The way
she looks, little white riding hood, she promised not to use it in the
club, and didn't even wear the belt the other night.  I guided her in, hand
to the small of her back, and felt it, unnatural, and sideways.

   An open night, I screen them comming in, but Billy said that fucker
might come back, try to get in.  Like hell, I brought my best whip, and
10-10 just in case.  The pistol was in my jacket, but I hoped Billy's
amateur profile was right.

   Anyway, I should have known she could take it from that.  I finger
fucked her, hard, hard as I could, but she had callouses inside.  Tough,
not even tight on three fingers, I had to work for four.  Her little point,
hard as a diamond against the ball of her thumb.

   Now, I don't got little girly hands, but after a while, I could run my
thumb down to my fingertips, bunched inside her, and slowly slipped it in.
Wrapping around it, I twisted my wrist, curled slowly into while she tried
to breathe.

   I could feel her sigh it out, the last shallow breath, and she arched to
take another one.  So small, but cavenous inside, I could almost feel her
hips around me, my hand.  Not really a Fist, I'll spare you the inside
secrets, what it feels like when she cums around you.

   But now the only mystery is who took Molly's goggles.  I asked Klaus,
and he denied it, convincingly.  Her fanboy, he had to know he wasn't her
type, wished he'd thought to take the souvenir, but they just dissapeared
after that scene with Ashe.

   Maybe she took them, as a trophy?

   I was interrupted anyway, by the arrival, of Billy, and his celebrity
date.  I didn't even know he was gay, 3K, I mean.  Not up on the
Gangsta/Hiphop scene, but good for business.

   CMB {FfM, NS, PLAY}

   I put on Ministry, "Cannibal Song", for her to dance to.  I can't have,
or be had by her, I can at least intercourse with her this way, through
musik.  My medium, it's typicly neither rare, nor well done, but I strive
to transcend that.

   I remember her fingers in me, gloved, but shivered a little.  Why did I
feel so wrong about it, dark, and dirty, creeped out.  It's what I wanted,
right?  Craved for, needed, but it took something out of me, made me feel
hollow inside, like her.

   I thought I loved her, or wanted to, but now that I'd felt her, it felt
like hate.

   Then we were interrupted by an arrival.  Famous, but not for music, he
looked familiar.  Bene' signed {3K}, right, the GangStar, almost a hero,
rumor was he was working on a debut record.

   "Yeh!" I could hear him over the music, Keith K.  Knight, great name,
pleased with his approval.  Finally, someone Else to take over the
dancefloor.  She can't hiphop, but damn, he sure can.

   When he had room, he threw it out, like a kata in fast foreward,
combative like the heavy beat.  I mixed it up, grabbed a sample disk to
throw in, scratched, and pitch shifted while he shifted the pit.

   A digital record, vinyl/acrylate, the opticly transparent substrate on
my fingers, black subsurface read by a laser needle, the technology comming
around for the ends to touch, full circle.  Albums, Laser Disc, CDVD, then
back around to records again.  Slow enough to guide with my hands.

   Rockin out with my cock out, I put down my goggles so I wouldn't loose
them.  Pulled back to strap the phones to my head.

   "H.U.S.T.L.E," Murz spelled it out, "Hustler," slash back,
"Hustle\Hustler." synkopate the beat a quarter stanza, a couple distorted
elecrtic guitar chugs.  DNB tribal, cutting the base from the original
track, but keeping the rythm.  Patching over to the keyboard, 3 iterations,
mentally composing the fugue.

   He spun, dropped, twisting, and kicking out his legs.  Spinning tighter,
he stood up on his head, and jumped.  Keeping the beat, he came down 3/4
turns on his hat, jumped again, and came down with it backwards, then
another hip hop to bring it around the other side.

   Break beat, "H."////, "E." minor, "/L/L" no o, "/Huss\Huss\Hussler."
Remixed to EBM, the words just notes, arpegio in Husses, pitch shifted on
the claviature.  Qwerty keyboard in the other hand, pedals, stool kicked
back from me, kicking and stomping between selecting effects.  Channeling
my anscestor, improvising in 6 part counterpoint.

   Ducking, he rolled onto his shoulders, back, slowing to a stop, and
popping back to his feet.  His tongue lolled like Jordan dunking, and his
head rolled around on his neck.  "Fuck, YEH!" I slowwed the track, dropped
the fader, and pitch, let the lights cool down.

   Turning to my laptop, I hit the playlist, the lights automaticly
switching to reactive.  "Dolby dol bedolby do," a version of "No shuffle"
doppled in, with the live crowd sounds excized, and cleaned up.

   "Place this is the place the only,.." {PL#242} I hopped down from the
stand, and edited the rest of the track from my mind.

   "That was fantastic!" he was there with that creepy Asian guy, in
instagoth {(c) Sycospark} drag.  I didn't know he was gay, K, I mean.  He
hit on Ash once, looked like it was working, first time for everything, but
then he ran.

   "Thanks," he held out his hand.

   "You got a DJ?" he was rumored to be working on an album.

   "Not's good as you," his Gangsta dialect of Anglische was obviously a
seccond language.  He kept dropping cultured words, pronunciations, but we
talked.

   Billy {NS}

   I finally got to meet the DJ, "Chrome Molly Bach." Groupie enfatuated
with Keith, I got a good look at her.  What Bene' calls a "Rivethead", she
looked cyberpunk, right out of Neuromancer.

   Pulling back her hand from a shake, her nails are manicured to parabolic
points, like a gothic arch, but polished shiny smooth, like stainless
steel, double edged scalpel blades.  Like her shades, mirror surface, and
curved into her orbitals like insets, asside from the straps.

   Teh Razor girl, or some variation on her, plane landing headphones hung
around her neck, the cable plaited with her hair, blending into neon
extensions to the plug dangling nearly to the floor.  A part of her, or the
closest thing, to a head jack.

   Kinda plain, actually, homely even under all that chromatic costume. 
Germanic, definitely, and hiding her inner self image under the persona,
another Mask.  Practicly the opposite of Ashe, feirce looking, but an inner
child, lonely, and crying for attention.

   "Wanna dance?" she got on the floor.  Something industrial, German? 
They kept saying "God Is Tod?" over and over.  {PL#*} She kept up with
Knight, good enough to upstage Ash.

   Now where did she get off to?  My belweather, sure to attract him, but.
Sure enough, she dissapeared, probably ran out of embarassment.  I looked
around for her, and him, the serial killer I was supposed to be looking
for.

   It occured to me that though he'd only struck once, I could deduce
enough to predict.  Close enough to a completed amateur profile.  Black
hair, probably died, and clothes, he'd be destinctive enough to blend in to
this croud of weirdos.  Everyone screaming for attention, someone who
wasn't, like me last weekend was obvious.

   No, he'd be crying for attention, but just softly enough to be ignored.
Black on black to minimize the UV reaction, blend into the shadows, the
throngs of Goths, and black leather clad fetishists.  And he'd be here
tonight, friday the thirteenth, just like Halloween.

   His trigger, he'd fantasized about it, but held back until the time was
right, like an astrologer waiting for a sign in the stars.  Some
schitzotypal magic ideation, tarot, a wiccan, or pagan.  Pentacles, ankhs,
he picked his crowd too well.

   Surrounded by it on a night like this, he was just plain invisible.  But
he had to be here.

   "Yaiiii!" a scream, by the back rooms, the crowd sweeping back like a
burning theater.  Ashe, staggering out, no longer white, stripped bare,
drenched in red.  She collapses theatricly as I run to her, past her to the
door.

   Lit up in lurid crimson, The Bower, he's arched back over the chaise,
stained dark with blood.  I get close enough to see his legs without
stepping in the flat pool, spread towards me, the wreck of wounds between
them.  His arms up, over his head, unmoving, bled out.

   I check his pulse as an afterthought.  Between the femorals, omentum,
and urogenital vascular bed, it should have been arterial spurts, like the
spatters shiny on the floor.  A black leather belt, cut open, like the
cuffs linked to it.

   Don't let her escape, I stopped, turned to look out to the club. 
"Ashe..," already on her feet, I went out, and slamed the door.  "Noone
goes in that room." She turned on me, Bene blocking the exit, Molly
crouched on the stage, Knight standing over her with his long gun out. 
"and noone leaves."

   Knight

   A'ite, I aint never goin out with Billy ever again.  First, evrybody
thought I was his boyfreind, and haaaell nah.  I mean, he's cool, and even
kinda pretty, but I like bitches, real ones with titties and shit.  Then, I
meet one who just might could kick my ass, and I still don't know how to
deal wit dat.

   Whacko land is right, the croud got to me, and that crazy cyborg DJ, and
then, justa drop a nice cherry on top of the evening, we didn't catch the
guy we was there for.  It was like a show with evrything, but Yul Brynner.

   Billy showed me that movie, "Chess!" a fucking musical.  He probably
liked that show tune I never knew was from it, "One night in Bangkok," bein
Thai, and all.  Still, I like the Knight symbol, it's my damn tag, in
black, with 3 on one side, and a K.

   Usually, the knight takes a Queen, because she can't move like me, so
she can't take you on the way in.  But I was, like, surrounded by three
queens, ChroMoly pinning me on the side, Benedict threatening me clear
across the board, and Ash.  I didn't know what she was, so it's like a pawn
moved one space foreward, and turned into a queen.

   Checkmate.  Misdirection, I got all distracted by the queen, and lost
both kings.  I guess Young was my king, he lost, and Pall was the other
side, the metaphor breaks down at some point.

   DJ CMB {F Play}



   "Ach, fik!"..{PL#13} Blut!

   Dr.  Young {MG, NS, Nude, ME.}

   "And noone leave the building," I closed the door behind us as soon as I
saw the exit was blocked.  The locker room, stalls in back, but no doors,
open enough for an orgy out here, on the benches, a wall of real lockers
behind me.

   "I'ma Dr." I had to keep my mask on, "Are you hurt?" Especially now that
I had seen her's off.

   "I don't know?" back on, she Acted the perfect victim, so well I suspect
she even beleived it.  Lied straight in my eyes, then looked down at
herself.  I took her to another room, yes, her, the first thing I checked.

   I looked over every square inch of skin, not a mark on her, or a fresh
one anyway.  Bone white, but not porceline smooth, she had scars.  The
largest was the most interesting.

   From pubis to sternum, it had faded almost invisible under all that
blood.  What caught my eye was her navel, or lack of one.  That brought my
attention to why, close enough scrutiny to trace the unnatural line. 
Surgicly straight, and precise, it almost seemed to belong there, marking
her as inhuman.

   Two fairly fresh cuts on her arm, an X, crossing out [Victim] in old
scars.  No hesitation marks, the cuts were shallow, but deliberate, and
precisely straight.

   "Did he rape you?" I knelt down, more scars, and callouses, none of them
fresh.  She stood with her legs open, but there's a gap between them, so
skinny on her wide hips.

   "Yes," no.  No lascerations, inflamation, or dilation.  Scar tissue, at
the edge of what was missing.  Her inner labia, and clitoral hood, they'd
been excised, again surgicly, she couldn't have done that herself.

   It made her look more childlike, just the pubis mons, tapering between
her legs, and splitting into thick puffy folds.  Not a hair on her, and
slick with blood.

   I smelled something overpowering it.  Lubrication, arousal, feminine
musk.  It turned her on, but she killed him before he could get into her,
even undressed.  Puffy nipples, can't tell the color, but not erect. 
Breath rate calming down, but no longer turned on.

   Still not enough, he took her in there, and I have a feeling he'll
match. The semen found in the wound inside the pelvis of his first victim.
Even if it went to trial, she'd have almost unbeatable self defence. 
"Would you consent to a rape-kit?"

   "What's that?" she shook her head, eyes locked to mine.  Only I could
see that she was lying, knew damn well what I was talking about.

   "Forensic tests," I went with the normal speil.  As medical examiner,
I've had to work several sexual assault cases.  I also just happened to
have one in my bag, without the computer in there, I even fit in my gun,
and a speedloader of the "special" loads.

   "Would you have to touch me?" I hadn't yet, but I wasn't fooled.  She
went for the self protective posture too late, would have come out with it
instead of the splashy show she just put on.

   She was just raped, and killed her attacker, right?  Feared for her
life? Then why did she run out, naked, striped with blood to a crowded sex
club?

   I dropped my mask, "where's the knife?" looked her in the eyes, and
dared her to lie to me.

   She looked me in the eyes, "I don't know," Why would she hide the knife?

   "There's a shower," I pointed back, not even a window to escape. 
Furnished, and even plumbed like someplace else, it was framed in solid
painted cinderblock.  I went out the only exit, to the club.

   The lights were up, except the party effects, and the music stopped. 
Keith was by the door with Benedict, noone was getting out.  I'll play your
game, little monster, but my way.

   Benedict {F NS}

   I hung up on Emergency Assistance as soon as they told me police were en
route. Not the publicity I need, the best kind of luck had Dr.  Young, a
bonafide medical examiner there.  I was also thankfull for K, for crowd
control.  Most of the members respect me, and my wishes in My club, but
they had guests, and it wasn't your average night.

   As pervy as they are, they aren't any more immune to being witness to
real rape, murder, and death.  Neither am I, and I bet I wasn't 100% just
in shock.  Knight had seen death, caused it, and lost comrades in battle.
He looked a little rattled, but calmer, and more controlled than anyone
else.

   Even Billy looked pale, and sick when he came out.  Not a drop of blood
on even the white soles of his chuck taylors, still as clean as he arrived,
despite having just stepped into a bloodbath.  "All right!"

   Everyone payed attention.  "This is now a crime scene, and you are all
witnesses." He pulled his other wallet out of his oversized purse, and
flipped it open.  "I am the Coroner for Alameda County, and as the only
official here, I must ask that noone leaves, untill the police come to
secure these premises.

   Some patrons were out smoking, and escaped, but only a handfull.  "I am
placing Ashley White Under Citizen's Arrest Untill I Can Turn Her Over."

   Sirens, finally, comming around to the parking lot side.  "Yeh," 3K ran
up, "I can't be here." Arright, I let him go, hoped I'd see him again.

   Billy hauled her up to me, still holding the door.  "I saw that."

   "You can't arrest me!" Ashe, wearing towels jerked her hand away.  Hair
wet, it looked kind of blondish, and the towels were, of course, white.

   "You killed some damn body." Not much taller than her, "Ask the cops
when they get here, they can't make a judgement on the level of
'Justifiable Homocide' on the grounds of 'Self Defence'," he pulled it off,
"You're going to jail, and the Magistrate'll haveta decide it."

   "That right?" she stared him right in the eyes, put up her hands
together, "Anybody got cuffs!?"

   "Hang on!" I put up my hand, "They'll bring some!"

   I had all the coats, so I gave her the cloak.  Billy pulled a snubnosed
revolver out of his bag as soon as I gave it to him.  It was snowing
outside when we handed her over, I led police to the crime scene, and even
opened the door for them.

   First good lookat it, that fucker was dead in front of me.  All I could
really see was his legs, and blood.  I seen blood before, that carpet was
expensive, and dark with it.  "Thanks, Ashe." I decided to keep that patch.

   "You'll have to stand back, S," he blinked, hand stopped right in front
of my chest.

   "Maam." Touch me and never jerk off with that hand the same way again.

   Dr.  Young {M NS}

   I followed them to the station, both officially, and as a witness while
the rest were questioned en mass at the club.  Noone saw anything, anyway,
like a Legerdemain assassination.

   I had more than enough data for a complete profile, if I could put them
all together.  "It is by will alone that I put my mind in motion..." {(c)
Frank Herber/Dino de Laurentis.}

   She Shewed {- Howard Phillips Lovecraft} her true face, a killer.  No
torture, no fight, a perfectly planned execution.  "Uh," I asked noone in
particular, "You got a computer I can use to type up my report?"

   "Yeah," someone showed me an empty office.  Or not being used, anyway,
it had a desk, chair, computer, but not much else.  Now, I kin type about
as fast as I think, and worked up a sanitized witness report.  No telling
what she'd say, but fortunately, I hadn't actually seen it.

   It also had network access, internet, and police with my login.  Medical
files, case search for similar rape/murders, narrow the feild with
specificity.  Stabbing between the legs, male victim, past this cluster to
older incidents.

   Twice, possibly coincidence.  I worked up the pattern.

   Amanda Hunt {FM Rape, Snuf, Lies}

   "State your name for the record." A uniformed officer, not a detective.

   "Ashley White."

   "Can you recount what happened last night, November Thirteenth, two
thousand five?"

   He said his name was Pall, "P.a.l.l." Tall, goth, I never saw him at the
club before.  Black hair, but blonde roots growing out, to match his
eyebrows.  Blue eyes, darker than mine.

   He brought me a drink, struck up a conversation, and I must admit, I was
attracted to him.  Ima Goth, scary is sexy to us, and the 'star is that
kind of place.

   Anyway, he took me back to a private room.  They are for sex, but I
never seen money, or drugs exchanged, we made no illegal transactions
there. Benedict runs security, and I think she was a military cop.  She has
a Navy, or Marine tattoo with [M,P] on the left bicep.

   "So you concented?"

   At first, he was kinda hot in his creepy way, but he hurt me, I mean
really hurt me.

   "So you're not a sado-masochist?"

   No, I like to be tied up, maybe choked a little, but I don't like pain.
And besides, I could tell right away he is a real Sadist, he needed real
pain to get hard, and not the fake play kind.  He pulled out a knife, cut
my clothes off, even my bracelets, and belt.

   I don't know why he clipped them together, I think it had some symbolic
meaning.  I read about serial killers, a lot, and they do stuff like that,
right?  Anyway, he threatened to cut my nipples off, just to hear me
scream.

   I screamed, "No," and "please don't," and "Stop," and rape and fire, and
all that stuff, but the music was so loud, and I think those rooms are
soundproof, or at least that one.

   Is he the guy I'm thinking about?  The rape killer from Halloween?  The
rumor I heard is he got his first victim there, at the Mourning Star,
right? Anyways, he dropped the belt, and I grabbed it.  Tough leather, I
thought if I wrapped the knife in it, he couldn't cut it, and me, and it
kinda worked.

   I got the knife away with it, anyway, and we fought over it, but he
stood up, and I got it, and stabbed him the only place I could reach.  I
just kept on stabbing till he stopped fighting, and fell over.  Then I went
out to the club to get help.

   I know Billy from the club, he's some kind of doctor, and he made sure I
wasn't hurt, and offered me a rape kit, but I felt too violated allready,
and he didn't rape me, so I waived that, and he let me go take a shower.

   Knight {MM Pimp DoMm}

   "Fuck, man!" I saw red, and blue, flashing before I hit the corner. 
Lightin up behind me, gat gat tight, 3/4 trench dark in the night.

   Rythm of the streets, man, kicks trippin time.  Sirens echo, but not my
crime.  Seen more then enough, this neighborhood, rough.  "Cheeze," want
some wine, and crackers wit dat?  Fuckit, drop it, skip back a cut.

   Chainink sings, and I almost land in it.  Sex, I think, or whatever. 
Hookers, man, all kinda wrong, and the pimps is the kinda come on strong. I
mean, "Hey," pink suit, purple hat, cock in a zute, "What's going on back
there?"

   Knife, backhanded away, then run my open hand up his arm.  "Klickt," two
hammers, nice.  By the pizza collar, standing back like an archer, 19" of
double barreled 12 gauge to stare at.  "Even if ya stick me," I glance
back, "I won't bleed out before tagging this alley wit yo ass." He puts it
away.  "None of your business," I chuck my head back, "You feel me?"

   "Uh," looking up, "Yeah," not back down again, closing.

   "GoodKnight," gone.

   Aite, Knight, it ain't "Midnight," and I ain't Ice T.  Evil E ain't with
me, and I can't GTA.  I ain't jacking my way outta this anyway.  {(C) OG:
Original Gangsta.}

   He's probably got freinds that ain't gimp hookers, submissives for guys
to abuse, male, female, and other.  I gotta get outta this hood.  I'm
probably safe enough with, what, 5 more shells?  Seven aut to do it if I
don't pick the wrong fight.

   "Need a ride?" who the fuck?

   "Ash" {F NS}

   They bought it.  The DA even came, officially decided not to charge me
on Self Defence grounds.  I thanked them sincerely, and Dr Billy offered me
a ride.  Hell, saved me cab fare, and I didn't have nothing.  My purse was
back at the club with my cloak, and even my blade was still in Evidence. 
They had to loan me clothes.

   Cops, it's not like they're stupid, I'm just that good.  Lotsa practice.
Billy, now, there was some kinda something else.  I didn't trust him, but
that's just not something I do, especially men.  He fooled me once, shame
on him, but not again.

   He played subbie really good, the part, like an actor, but not the game.
He's not submissive, at all, I found, but a good mimic.  He dropped the
act, as soon as he got me in the car.

   "Can you take me home?" I blinked tears back in my eyes.

   "Sure thing," he drove off, "Amanda."

   "My names Ashley," I corrected him, didn't shew the chill that frose my
heart despite the [SFPD] sweats.  The smallest set they could find, they
still hung on me like a tent.

   "We both know that's an alias," telling me he knew, "How many have you
had?"

   "I don't know," I shrugged, "Just nicknames."

   "My favorite is 'Amanda Hunt," he chuckled, "Great pun, 'A Man Ta
Hunt'."

   "I don't know who your talking about," I turned away, but he did.

   "Quite a distinctive M.O.  you got there," he didn't ask where I lived.

   "Where are you taking me?" towards Alameda?

   "Somewhere we can talk," he smiled, "In private." He shifted, pulled out
a shiny snubnose, and set it in his lap.

   "Who are you?" no way I could get across the seats and grab it before he
shot me.

   "We're talking about you now," he said, "You like to stab up between the
legs."

   Oh, I realised to late, that kind of doctor.  "Yeah," I admitted, "So
what?"

   "So," he watched the road, but kept me in the corner of his eyes, the
rearview mirror, "That's what we call a signature.  In Raliegh, the NCSU
campus, that was the first time, and two others not counting last night. 
You used the name Amanda Hunt then, the first time you were arrested, but
got away the seccond, and third time."

   "You did your research," I had to give him that, "So why aren't we
having this conversation back there?" with the cops.

   "To answer that," he pulled onto the freeway, "Let me tell you my
story." {\Yuen Ng}

   Billy {fM Rape Snuf Sade}

   She told me what really happened, or I got it out of her.  The best way,
I told her who I was, what I am, and how I got that way.  Leaving the city,
all my stuff, my job, but I got savings, and enough in back to live on the
road as long as neccisary.

   She listened, well, interested.  The child porn, abuse, sex underground
she never expected.  Familliar with the subculture, semisecret society we
found each other in, "Almost legal even!"

   She didn't act, sat next to me with the mask thrown away, laid bare in
the baggy police sweats.  Even unintentionally portraying the exact
opposite of her nature, inheirently criminal, earned by playing the victim.

   I think she lies so well by beleiving it, convincing herself possibly
well enough to skew a polygraph at least to inconclusive.  Not a
pathological reflex liar, but with the sincerity of someone with control
over her delusions.

   The theoreticly impossible, but mythical female sociopath.  So moraly
crippled that humans are like animals, prey to be taken from, and abused.
Like Connie, and Victoria Liggett, they use sex, instead of violence, but
it's a parallel pathology.

   She doesn't even fight, she kills, using sex to incapacitate the
victims, hold them by their genital, the important one, inside her.  The
knife, in evidence now, but I seen it.  Double edge, one serrated, and a
skelital handle.  (Gerber) river runner?  (Legendary Blades).  She carried
it in, inside the belt she made herself, in the small of her back.

   She just waited, spotted him even before I arrived from the way he
watched her.  She said you could tell he was trying to entrance her with
his eyes, like dracula, willing her to him.  Only when the time was right,
she went after him.

   Bragging by then, he clipped her hands behind her, forced her back on
the chaise, held her with her weight.  He tore her dress off, and stopped
with his hands on the front clasp of her bra.  Padded, a silicone "Water
bra," she has small perky conical breasts pinched by her overdeveloped pink
nipples.

   In the station, she stood stark naked, clean, and talked to the female
guard while waiting for the loaners, and putting them on.  None of that
distracted him, Pall.  I saw him, and damnit, my eyes slipped over him
without much thought.

   A poser, blonde roots showing under the flat black die, split almost to
them, long, but headbanger ratty.  Trenchcoat in Columbine Mafia black, tee
shirt, and jeans to match.  Dressed teenage angsterbater, he had to be
pushing thirty.

   She picked up on him from across the room, claimed to have had that
magical romantic feeling.  Knowing he would be there, looking at her.  All
eyes were on 3K, upstaging her, the timing was perfect.  She went to him,
let him stand over her, conciously more aware of what was going on in his
mind.

   I agreed with her, he would think he called her somehow.  Stood back
watching her, and noticed him.  Certainly not how attractive he is, not
enough attention to have that kind of appearence.  No, she saw how much her
wanted her.

   To take him, past the bondage rooms to the nice one.  Already red,
burgundy carpets, Crayola (Tm) red wall, and ceiling, chrimson furniture,
including the chaise in the center of the room.  Hand up to the small of
his back, pushing as forcably as possible.

   Massive proportionate to her, he lets her close the door, come to him,
take his wrists.  Running his hands up her body, she moves towards her
face, looking up at him.  He grabs her, neck, and shoulders, swithces to
"Thatch."

   "Thatch?" I shook my head.

   "It's from a book, 'Hard Wired',"{(c)Walter Jon Williams}"I think you'd
like it." Anyway, he forced her down, back on the wrought iron chair with
an extended seat.  Grabbing her wrists, twisting them behind her, then had
to get up, roll her over.  He pinned her with his legs, and his weight.

   He used both arms to pin hers, one by one, clipping them to the quick
links, and locking them.  Just like she planned, too conveniet to pass up,
in position to spring her trap.  Turning her over again, she acted like she
still thought it was a game, fun.  He tore her dress off, fumbled with the
bra.

   He was distracted, by her scar.  Lifting up her sweatshirt, she showed
me.  On her tummy, it was a pink line.  Spread, and faded from growth, I
didn't turn on the light.  A sodium vapor lamp flashed overhead, and she
pulled it off.

   I looked at the road, rearview.  The closest people were distant pairs
of lights, red, and white respectively.  I just tried to keep it on the
road.  I looked at her, knew better than to try to touch.  Fresh from the
police station, and as good as stripped searched, she could still be armed.

   "Anyway," she cut herself free, didn't cut herself, which is amazing of
itself.  By then, he had her underwear off, and was exploring her scars. 
She didn't show me, and I was thankfull that the one time I did see it, it
was under a partially obscuring coat of blood.

   Scar tissue, it actually delayed his sadistic side.  Fascinated, he was
turned on enough from the mutilation, reading the pain recorded in a
language of scars.  She screamed, knowing it was what he wanted, not even
letting him ask her too, make her.

   He closed his eyes, felt her, smiled.  Then the belt snapped.  He never
had the knife, she used the belt to tangle his wrists.  Terrified, he got
up, tried to get back, but she stabbed upward.  The serrations caught in
his flesh, and pelvis.

   He fell, the wet steel handle slipping free, and she got out of the way.
Behind him, she grabbed the knife in both hands, and fucked him to death.
Doggy style, it must have left wounds very similar to the ones he left in
"Kat." Then she cut off the wrist cuffs, threw them on the body, and went
out to make her entrance.

   Before that, she was with another serial.  Here, that I didn't know
about, one of his bodies passed over my table, and I made much the same
findings.  A teenage girl, she was emaciatingly thin, shaved clean below
the lashes, starved to death.

   The yeasty smell pervaded the autopsy room, not infection, but ketosis,
from being starved, almost like living putrefaction.  Multiple track marks,
injection wounds in both arms, tox came back heroin, and her ID.  A
runaway, from a Bay area suburb, there were signs of repeated sexual
activity, but not rape.

   He kidnapped her, just like "Mandy," for short.  Kept them for days,
shaved, and starved them.  Fed on semen, he made them eat it, raped them,
and addicted them to heroin to keep them controllable.  He only shot up
Mandy twice, though, before she killed him.

   She probably made a knife, I didn't ask too many questions, and skipped
past them to "Before that." Before that, she tracked Pall to N California.
Apparently having more experience than I'd given him credit for, he left
bodies, but jumped jurisdictions.

   Hithertoo unconnected, he evolved to his BDSM tableturning MO from rape
fantasy, and occasional attacks of opportunity.  He didn't kill before Kat,
but the sex rage caused an unexpected jump in escalation.  He didn't use,
or carry anything, paraphenalia like tools, or a rapekit.

   Clever how she used it, turned around to what you need for it.  A self
taught pathologist, she knows rape better than I ever will, and I have more
experience than most.  She knows rapists.

   This one, Pall raped a prostitute, a call girl in Vegas.  A domme
speialist, like Gale, from Old Town {(C) Frank Miller}, he turned the
tables on her, raped, and tortured her with her own equipment.  Before that
was a teenager in Phoenix.  A high school student, misfit, and loner, he
actually seduced her, somewhat.

   Much closer {PL#NiNe} to SM play, she thought of herself as a Dom, so he
at least played submissive.  She dominated him, mostly verbal abuse until
he snapped, forced her down, and raped her.  If this wasn't his origin
crime, it was close.

   Always behind, she anticipated his move to the Bay Area, a metro area
reknowned for it's liberal sexuality.  Rapidly evolving, acellerating as
well as escalating, the first crimes were at least a year apart.  The
first, Mandy knew of, was on halloween, the seccond a May Eve, or Beltain,
the third a friday the thirteenth.

   Pagan, wiccan she thinks, he cycles through his natural rythm, but times
it for "Significant" dates, times in the pagan calanders.  A poser in
everthing, he lacks creativity, there's no art to it.  Now, these ain't my
opinions here, but I can understand how she thinks.

   She picked up on my backwards thought process before I remember
referrancing it.  A very good reader, using her empathy, or intuition,
something male sociopaths completely lack.

   Bene {MT}

   What the hell, I closed shop as soon as the cops finished interviewing
the witnesses, and evrybody left.  One other car in the lot, I got in my
Jeep, and drove around the building.

   You kinda got to spiral in, and out of there, out the door, around to
the lot, then around the building to the other end of the alley.  Kinda
nice, and defensive, I don't got to kick out prostitutes, and john that
wander back too often.

   "Kching!" I stopped, saw someone fleeing through the night.

   "Knight," in distress, sawedoff swinging down as he stood from his
crouch, and the window came down.  "NEED A RIDE?" I yelled, and he looked
happy to run up to my truck.

   "Les go," he hit the seat, and slammed the door at the same time.

   "Djou shoot someone?" shotgun, between the seats, murder weapon.

   "Nah," he shook his head, "Din't haveta, but din't make no frinds
neither." Fresh off the streets, he degenerated to talking likeat.

   I didn't speed, but got out of there quickly.  If he disturbed the
neighbors, well, I heard rumors.

   "Wher do you live?" I got out of the district, alleys, and former
warehouses, some of them changed to temporary whorehouses.

   "East Oakland," he pointed towards the tollway, "Near the Alameda
Tunnel." I headded that way.  "What happened back there?"

   "Far's I can tell, we had a serial killer stalking th club, and that
white dancer chick killed him."

   "You don't look too pissed off." he noticed.

   "He also killed my," I looked away, out the window, "Lover, Kat."

   "Ah, so there's some revenge dere?" how long's he been hanging out with
Dr.  Young?

   "Yeah, well." not much to say, "He's lucky I didn't get him." I could've
taken some time off, days.

   "Yeh," he grunted, "You all into that whip me beat me shit, aintcha?" I
gotta admit, the streetmouth gets a little annoying.

   I swallowed it, "I've been in the scene to long," jaded, "What I
wouldn't give for a more normal relationship."

   "More equal?" he guessed, from his point of view.

   "Yeah," I guess, "different, but not better, or lesser, apples, and
oranges."

   "You're a bishop," he figured, "Benedict."

   I laughed, "chess?" obviously.

   "Yeah," he shrugged, relaxed now, the gun was tucked away, somewhere. 
"On the board, a Bishop's worth the same as a Knight," not just a name, a
symbol, "just different, complimetary."

   There, talking like an educated young man, not too young, I guessed. 
Real good at concealing that thing, on my side, I think, but I can't see
anything but coat.

   I caught his eyes in the rearview, not looking at mine, but across, down
at my body.  He did something with his thick lips, like a pucker, but
meaning more like a shrug.  His hat, and shades gone, along with his snap
pants, his eyebrow slowly went up over a leer.

   Knight {MT =}

   Aite, she was talkin relationship, but I got stuff to do, down here, and
in Hollywood.  I didn't say nothin, but she was lookin damn fine.  Idanah,
I been with bitches, little hoes, groupies, but this wus a man's woman, a
Bishop for a Knight.

   Usually, they cancel each other out, but she's dark, like me, always on
the black squares.  Paired, we're powerfull, can take a queen, or king
without further support.  I usually sacrifice the bishops, cover her to
sweep in so I can keep both Knights, but again, it's just a metaphor for
the real game.

   Still, a good couple, if you look at it from outside.  Two kinds of
power, and she can save me sometimes.  Not a damsel in distress, she don't
need rescued, and can hold her own.  I seen her gun, a Bren 10, like Miami
Vice.  10 shots of 10mm, like .41 for automatics, real nice peice.

   Aight, she's big like that, can handle the kick, but I sling around 12
gauge one handed anyway.  Like I said, complimentry.  And she's all hot for
me, I can tell with white chicks.  Light skinned anyway, not like pink
white.

   Kinda pretty, cept that nose, and the way it makes her whole face
crooket.  Looked kida small in her big hair, and manly size.  Close, I
could smell her breath, cigar on it.  I expected stubble, or some kind of
mustach, roughness from shaving, but she soesn't have no hair on her face.
Her lips are soft, and warm, but she's not all gentle about it.

   Now I'm not gay, not even a little, but she's not a man, aight?  Just a
big woman, I been wit fat ones, so why not muscle?.  Powerfull arms, at
least as strong as me, but feeling like a woman, rubbing my chest, my
bicep. Yeah, real hot, and not like nobody else.

   No bra, flat titties on a chest as thick with muscle as mine.  Can't
feel no bone with it, but rough stubble on top of her shirt.  Pulling it up
to reach under, up her rippling tummy, ribs, titties soft on her har flat
chest.

   Damn she can kiss, strong, but not forcing nothing, playing.  Her hands
too, big, and gentle, a little rough, pulling open my belt, and zipping
down my jeans.  "Oohh!" she looks down, grinning.  Little K stickin out her
fist.  Aight, maybe not that little, I never got no complaints it was too
small.

   "Nice!" she must've got the rubber from somewhere.

   [Another "Dirty Harry" Slaying:

   Police, and even FBI Profilers are baffled as the first serial killer in
the cluster of bizarre sex crimes unfolds.  One anonymous source, close to
the case says this:

   "In addition to the Sex Slayer, {see: 2nd Sex Slaying!  1A} Halloween,
and last night, we had another killing with a magnum revolver on Alameda
Island.  This time, he de-escalated to a .357, snubnose for concealment, we
beleive.  It may also sybmolise impotence, which almost certainly was
triggered by his core internalised homophobia."

   He went on, at lenth to explain how his paranoia, and homophobia must
force him to kill [homosexuals] who he blames for his homoerotic fantasies.
His randomness, and quick evolution has managed to stay ahead of the
investigation.

   As last time, he kept the signature of eroticly raping his victim, again
sodomizing him before pulling the trigger.  Instead of a gay bar, the
victim was apparently picked up at the infamous Morning Star, and again
driven to an undesclosed rural site.

   For further crime news, see our artical on the Gang Wars below.  Have
they gone Cold, or become twisted as the sex gangs become more brazen?



   If you have any information about any of these crimes, or feedback on
our new daily Crime section, please contact us at
<http://www.SFTribune.com/TrueCrime/>]