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Days in the life of a psychopath : Day One

This is the tale of some of the days of my life. As
the title says, I am your run of the mill, friendly,
mild-mannered and soft-spoken psychopath. As I got
older and wiser, I realized that my life was becoming
quite a story that really needed to be told. Having
never gotten the hang of writing, I found myself a
personal biographer who was kind enough to volunteer.

These are the stories that I told him on our long
evenings together in his mansion in western Maine.
Think of this as 'Interview with a Vampire' but
without all (or most) of the blood and gore.

Be advised: Acts may be described that some people
would perceive as violent. Also some acts of an
explicit sexual nature will be mentioned. In all cases
I am just telling it as it happened, nothing added,
nothing hidden. Foul language, I have always felt, is
for those who have no other means of expressing
themselves and will only occur when actually spoken by
such individuals.

So sit up and pay attention! You are about to get an
insight into the life of a truly free and self-
sustained individual; it will lighten up your short
and pointless existence.
Day One: Northern America, Midwest, sometime last

It was one of these afternoons. Scientists had just
proven that it would be possible to grow donor hearts
outside of human body and I had acquired another speck
of dirt on my brand new shoes. It is strange: If you
shine an old pair of shoes they look good for days on
end, but a new shine on a new pair of shoes gets dirty
in minutes. How does dirt know, that your shoes are

Anyway, I did not mean to get carried away: There I
was, dirty shoe and all, at the entrance of the Hilton
in some reasonably large Midwestern town. I really
cannot remember its' name and when you think about it;
if they really wanted you to remember, they would make
these names descriptive and memorable would they not?
"You are now leaving 'Stinking Cesspool With Many
Lights' – you come back now!" That I would remember!

A snot-nosed kid, 17 tops, dressed in a portiere
uniform, rushed up to the door ahead of me, activated
the sliding doors and then stepped back with a smug
smile. Apparently I looked like someone who would be
unduly strained by having to activate sliding doors. I
paused long enough to give him a good kick over the
calf (using the filthy shoe) and proceeded to the
doors. Sadly, kicking him had detained me long enough
for the doors to get bored and start closing.
Instantly I was back in Nam (where I spent a hellish
vacation two years earlier, opening my own doors all
week) and flung myself through the diminishing gap,
just making it.

I rolled a couple of times, barely missed a marble
ashtray and came to rest next to a pair of some of the
longest legs I had ever seen. They just went on and
on. From my angle it looked like they were topped only
by a pair of boobs and a chin. I knew that was highly
unlikely and returned my sights to the legs instead.
They were pearly white and smooth. I moved my head in
between them and could almost make out the outline of
a vagina, but there was too little light. I was just
about to get my lighter when the female started
screaming for no discernable reason. I got up and
walked away.

The hall porter was a large, triple chinned man who
seemed to be resting against both sides and front of
his desk area all at once. He looked like something
out of a Monty Python movie and I felt an absurd urge
to feed him a chocolate mint.

"Can I help you, sir?" he said with a voice so high
pitched that I actually rose on my toes to look for
the woman he was hiding. There seemed to be no one
there and I smiled down at him just in case he was an
incredibly ugly, unshaved female. Living on the edge
teaches you not to be picky!

He squirmed under my glare in what was either a
brilliant imitation of a straight man being hit on by
a homosexual or the real thing. Letting him off the
hook I said:

"I'll have your cheapest room and a bottle of you
finest Scotch." I had no intention of staying in or
paying for the room, but I had standards to uphold. He
seemed nonplussed and started tipping on his computer.
The card I gave him turned out to be valid, but I had
expected no less. I had had it for less than an hour
and the previous owner should still be unconscious if
indeed he was ever going to come around again.

I was given my key-card and a 'good day' and made my
way to the elevator. It was one of these brass-and-
mirror-jobs that look like they are keeping two
cleaning ladies busy all day. Never the less I was
somewhat surprised to see two Hispanic ladies in
aprons and white gloves busily working away in the
elevator. One – middle-aged-ish, short hair, fat – was
shining brass on her knees just by the entrance.

I pressed the button for the top floor and waited till
the elevator was between 2. and 3. Then I hit the
emergency brake. I never wear underwear and when the
fat one turned her head to see what was wrong, I had
my penis ready. Grapping her jaw with my left hand I
pushed lightly and inserted my tool when she opened
up. She did not generate much suction but the height
was just right and I was able to push it all the way
in. My testicles hammered repeatedly against her chin
and were tickled each time by her facial hair.

The novelty wore off fast. I pulled out of her oral
cavity and indicated that I was done and that she was
free to continue her work. Then I turned to the other
one who was staring wide-eyed at my love-muscle. She
was maybe twenty, beautiful and petite (French for
'small with big brown eyes and long dark hair'). She
had been polishing the mirrors in the back and was
still half turned away from me. I grabbed her hips and
pulled her towards me. She started jabbering away in
that incomprehensible language of hers and kept saying
something that sounded like 'non, non', but who can
tell what such strange noises might mean?

The short uniform was easily pushed up and the panties
pulled down. She looked dry, so I told her to play
with it while I put on a condom, but I don't think she
understood me. She bowed down and grabbed her panties
instead. I placed a foot on them and shook my head
when she looked up at me. I held her eyes for a couple
of seconds and then lifted my foot and let her free
her fingers. She seemed to resign herself to the facts
of the situation and stepped out of the panties and
widened her stance.

At exactly that time I had the condom secured and was
ready to rumble. I spat on two fingers and applied the
moisture to the condom. Then I neared my face to the
light-brown ass and spat twice at the rear hole. When
my saliva reached her little love-hole I caught it
with the tip of my rod and made a few stabs at
penetrating her. We were still a little too dry but
working slowly and carefully (lest I break the condom
– you can never know where these brown girls spend
their nights) I made way.

Halfway down the road I felt a familiar blockage and
retracted quickly. There are a lot of things that can
be wrong with a virgin of course, but most of them
won't kill you! Playing the odds I ripped the condom
off and placed myself at her entrance again. De-
virginization is a specialty of mine: If you do it
wrongly, it can be quite painful, but done correctly
there is virtually no pain involved. I pressed back
into her and swirled my (little) head, looking for the
weakest spot. It was located in her left side a little
toward her back, as, strangely, it often is. Clenching
my teeth I took aim and rammed through at full speed.
As most always it worked and I felt no pain.

The señorita let out a loud wail and collapsed.
Letting myself sink with her, I ended up in a great
position for biting her pert breasts while moving in
her, so I did. Before long I felt the familiar
tinkling and my semen rushed into the young woman. I
got up and went back to the front of the elevator. The
overweight woman had kept her back respectfully turned
while the young woman and I had made love and even
appeared to have gotten some work done; a square about
3 by 3 inches had an impressive shine to it.

I reinserted my penis in her mouth. She did an ok job
of cleaning it and was done before long. Wiping a
little residual saliva off in her hair, I put my tool
away and released the brake. The young girl, who had
stayed on the floor since I pulled out of her,
scrambled to her feet and straightened her dress. Some
come dripping out of her and onto the floor made her
look down and see her panties, which were soon
retrieved and chucked into a garbage bag in their
cart. I tipped my hat to the two when I left the
elevator, but they seemed not to notice.

I have a very professional mindset and I am great at
focusing on the job at hand. That is the only way to
survive in my business. I went directly to work. The
first couple of rooms were unoccupied and in the third
someone was shaving in the bathroom. He came out and
looked at me as I entered. I just turned around and
left. In my experience only about one out of ten will
follow you if you just walk out nice and slow without
a second glance. The tenth guy you will have to hurt
bad for him to go away, but I was ready for that too.
My knife drawn I waited twenty-thirty seconds by the
door, but it remained shut and I moved on.

The next couple of rooms yielded a little cash, some
jewellery and a watch. Then an empty room, where I
used the phone to call the front desk and make a
complaint about the sexual suggestions made to me by
the cleaning ladies in elevator one. I took special
care to describe the young one and told the fat
homophobe that she had most clearly been wearing no
underwear. Then I moved on.

In the next room there was a woman on the floor. It
looked like an argument gone wrong: Vases had been
thrown, furniture upended and the entire room
suggested that it had been a long lasting argument.
There was no immediate way to tell who had been right,
argument-wise. If you believe good old C. Darwin, it
is right to be alive and sire offspring and wrong not
to be. In that sense this woman had been wrong for 4-6
hours, give or take 15 minutes. She had either died a
very poor woman or had been found earlier; all her
wallet contained was an expired condom.

The room contained little else that wasn't either
smashed or bolted down. I did not stay there long. I
detest killing. It seems to me an idiotic waste to
exert yourself to establish superiority and control
and then go and kill the witnesses. I avoid it
whenever possible.

I worked another couple of floors: The yield was good
and there were no special surprises. Then I walked in
on a strange scene. In the master bedroom a man was
giving it to a blonde woman of about 35. She was that
kind of fat, that seems to include only a woman's
bosom and behind and she seemed genuinely frightened.

The man had tied and gagged her. By the look of the
knots he was either an ex-scout or an experienced
sadist. She was good and well tied down. Me, I am not
much of a rope man. I like them moving under me, if
you know what I mean, but every man to his own, I

Looking closer, I abandoned the S/M-angle. The S/M-
people are a slow and deliberate bunch. These knots
were adequate, but they were tied for efficiency, not
art. Judging by his hairy ass the ex-scout was a 22-23
years old Caucasian with no rhythm who had kept out of
the sun for too long.

I must have made some kind of noise because suddenly
the youngster dove to the floor left of the bed and
came up with a large gun pointed at my head. It was
one of those enormous handguns that are great for
intimidating the uninformed masses, but can't hit shit
and would probably break your wrist if you tried. The
kid was in no immediate danger though, as it was
clearly not loaded. He screamed some forgotten insult
at me and shook his big gun a couple of times.

I was considering taking him out of my misery, when my
eyes fell on his 'equipment'. I was rattled as to why
the woman had even bothered protesting, given what she
was being molested with. Smiling widely I backed out
of the door without a third glance. Letting him live
with that tiny peter seemed more than just punishment
for pointing his cannon at me.

With that I called it a day. It was getting late and
people were returning from town - I had enough anyway
to keep me partying for days. On a hunch I picked the
other elevator for my ride down and sure enough: The
two Hispanic ladies were there, busily polishing away.
I stopped between 4. and 3. and slapped them around
for a while, but my heart was not in it and I let them
off with only a slight warning. Instead I had the x-
virgin shine my shoes on the way down.

I left the Hilton with filled pockets, clean shoes and
in a better mood than I had been for days. I even
lifted my hat to the spotty kid at the front door and
left him with the thought that I leave you with too:
'In this world there is nothing that you can't just
take, if you really put your mind to it!'


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