JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps

by phuc

  Channel Four.

  An oriental woman with full red lips is engulfing a large cock, taking its engorged length in her mouth.

  Charley felt warm, realizing he had held his breath for a moment. He felt his heart beat faster as his excitement grew. His cock was rock hard in his pants. His eyes were riveted on the screen as the woman's head bobbed up and down the immense cock.

  Charley shifted his buttocks on the plastic seat in the video booth. He was in one of twenty video booths in Ken's Adult Video and Books in Highland Park. He had just put five dollars worth of tokens in the booth's coin slot and was trying to find a suitable video currently playing on the store's video system. He had come here tonight because mother was getting on his nerves—nothing new there, mother got on his nerves every goddamned day. Usually he just stayed in his room and watched videos while she ranted and raved in the living room. But tonight she had been especially annoying. He couldn't turn up the volume on his television because she would simply pound on the door to his room and scream at him to turn it down. She would sit outside in the living room, pleading for him to come out and pray with her, or to sit up with her and watch TV. He'd tell her he was really tired and was going to bed, and just as he would get in the mood and put in a porn video she would start in on him again. He very well couldn't turn up the volume to that—she would know what he was doing in there, and she would start nattering at him that he would go blind if he kept doing that, or that it would fall off, or he would go to hell. After ten minutes of trying to watch sexual action amid his mother's ranting and raving above the sound affects that helped put him in the mood, he had turned the tape off with a snort of disgust, put on his jacket and shoes and headed out of the house. He ignored his mother as he brushed past her, telling her that he was going out for awhile in response to her “where do you think you're going now? It's late!” He got into his truck and headed out of the neighborhood toward Highland Park.

  And now he was here at Ken's Adult Video and Book Emporium, trying to get into the mood again.

  He was leery about jacking off in the privacy of the video booth. He had heard that they installed surveillance cameras in these booths and that sometimes police stings were made. He didn't want to get busted on an indecent exposure charge. He just wanted to immerse himself in pure, unadulterated lust in peace for the next ten minutes.

  The oriental woman sucking the immense cock brought the man off with a hearty ejaculation of semen that splashed on her face. She licked it up, smearing it across her lips. Charley's breathing grew strained, his skin grew tingly as he watched. With a trembling hand, he changed the channel.

  Channel Five.

  Two well-built males romp it up under God's blue sky. One is on his hands and knees taking it up the rear from the other, his muscles rippling. Charley noted with bated breath that the man getting fucked had an incredible hard-on. He watched mesmerized for a minute, breath held. He exhaled as both men reached climax, semen landing on flesh and the wet, green grass.

  Channel Six.

  A woman is tied to a bed, arms and legs spread wide. She is blindfolded, a rubber-ball gag stuffed into her mouth and tied into place by a strip of leather. Two men dressed in bondage gear and black leather masks with eyeholes are swarming over her, one teasing her between her legs with his hand, the other brandishing a whip. Her cries are those of pain and rapture.

  Charley's breathing grew faster, more urgent.

  He flipped through the channels faster.

  The middle aged woman was now taking it doggy style, screaming in ecstasy ...

  the woman with the basketball size tits was squeezing her lover's cock between her man-made assets, urging him on with feral eyes ... mingled cries of passion created a soundtrack as a cock spurted semen over a smooth, white female ass ... a double penetration scene as the oriental woman from the oral sex reel rocked in double tandem as a third cock made its way toward her open and waiting mouth ... ?

  His breathing grew harsher, his skin tingled ... ?

  ...as two male tongues entwined with each other, male fingers moving across male chests ... ?

  ... his cock so hard that it hurt ... ?

  ...and a female face pressed into the flowery folds of another woman, her finger reaching down to softly part ... ?

  Charley rose to his feet and exited the booth, his breath held as he pushed through the double barroom-style doors of the video arcade and went past the movie display racks, the magazines, the sex toys, and out into the street.

  He paused for a moment outside of Ken's Video and Books Emporium. Foot traffic on Highland Park Avenue was sparse compared to what it normally was. This section of the street was filled with topless bars and X-rated video stores, along with bars, restaurants, and fast food joints. The night air was cool, a promise of rain in the forecast.

  Charley pulled his jacket tight around his body and started walking toward the parking lot.

  He walked past a pair of prostitutes who were sharing a cigarette on the outer edges of the parking lot. In the darkness it was hard to tell what the prostitutes looked like but they were dressed identically: skimpy tops with small suede jackets covering their shoulders, tight mini-skirts revealing skinny legs and high heels. One of them called out to him as he entered the parking lot. “Hey, baby! Lookin’ for a good time?"

  He imagined himself plowing his cock into her, hands wrapped around her throat, throttling her as he fucked her, her eyes bulging out of their sockets ... ?

  “What's the matter, lover?” Her voice was a catcall, mocking and seductive at the same time. “Gotta go home to your mama?” They laughed.

  He drew the knife across her throat, severing her larynx and carotid artery, blood spraying him, splashing his face. He drew the knife in deeper, cutting into the thyroid gland and hitting bone ... ?

  He shut their laughter out with the slam of the front door of his truck. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, his emotions roiling. His cock was still hard, begging for release. He looked out the window toward the prostitutes, noticing they had turned their attention away from him and had resumed trying to get business from the johns that cruised the street. His mouth turned into a grimace. His hands gripped the wheel tight as their catcall echoed in his mind. What's the matter lover? Gotta go home to mama?

  Charley started the truck and backed out of the parking slot, his need building. He cruised slowly toward the exit where the prostitutes were positioned, the need coursing through him, begging for release.

  April 1, 1998, 9:48 am

  Los Angeles, CA

  Rachael was reading the morning edition of the LA Times when she spied the article on page two. She nearly choked on her orange juice and coughed, doubling over in her chair as juice and spittle flew out of her mouth. Daryl, who was sitting across from her, reading the sports page, looked at her with alarm. “Jesus, you all right, Rachael?"

  Still coughing, Rachael sputtered. “I'm fine. Just took this juice down the wrong pipe. I'll be okay."

  She got herself calmed down, then held the paper out for Daryl to see. “I saw this just as I was taking a sip of my juice and that's what caused me to lose it. Hope you're not drinking coffee right now."

  “What is it?” He took the paper from her curiously and his eyes lighted on the section she was pointing to. SEVERED LEG FOUND IN HIGHLAND PARK

  screamed the headline. Daryl's eyes grew wide and he looked at Rachael over the paper.

  “Christ, you can't be serious!"

  “This is the first you've heard of it?” she asked, amazed that he wouldn't have been alerted to the discovery the moment it was made.

  “Yes,” he said, reading the article with rapt fascination.

  Rachael had returned to Los Angeles seven nights ago last Thursday, tired and excited about the leads she had picked up. She had yammered to Daryl on the drive home from the airport about what she had found and he was impressed. They had gone to bed after making quick love and had woken up the next morning to get to thei
r respective jobs; Rachael had to work on a new feature story for the paper and was due in the office at eight a.m. for a conference call. She'd stayed late at the office that first day, and then had come down sick later that night with a stomach flu that was so bad that Daryl had insisted she see a doctor. Her skin had been flush, her fever high, and she had thrown up almost continuously late into the morning, bent over the toilet dry-heaving until Daryl had gotten scared and headed to the phone to call 911. Miraculously, that had seemed to be the end of it; Rachael had stood up and come into the kitchen where Daryl was at the phone, finger poised over the ‘one’ button when Rachael said she felt better. She seemed to have gotten it out of her system. What she needed now was some water and to get into bed. So Daryl had helped her drink some water and then had put her to bed where she had fallen to sleep almost immediately. He had stayed home that morning; she had been tired, weak, still a little feverish, but felt a lot better. He went into the office that afternoon while Rachael stayed home and replenished her fluids. The next day marked a drastic improvement and she had gone back to work and that was pretty much the routine for the week until today.

  They had been slow to wake up and finally Rachael had trudged outside to pick up the paper. Last night Daryl had turned off his beeper and the two of them finally got together and spent some quality time with each other, the first time they had been able to do so since Rachael arrived home from South Bend.

  “They found this thing yesterday and nobody fucking called me?” he cried loudly, his voice tense. Rachael shrugged and tried to muster a reassuring smile. It didn't sit well with Daryl, who was quite pissed. “What the fuck is wrong with those asswipes?"

  Rachael was going to suggest that perhaps they had tried to get a hold of him last night but weren't able to due to his turning the pager off. She didn't want to make him more upset, so she kept her mouth shut. Instead, she said: “They found it late last night.

  We weren't home last night, Daryl. They might have tried calling here, but we weren't home."

  “Yeah, and I had the goddamn pager turned off,” Daryl said, ruffling the paper so that the article was clearly exposed. “Just my fucking luck. I'm sure this really threw them for a loop so hard that it knocked them on their asses."

  “This” was the discovery yesterday morning of a woman's severed leg found along the banks of a gulley in Highland Park. The leg, severed at the knee, was well preserved from the cold weather and rain El Nino was still bringing to the region. A search had been launched for the rest of the victim but as of the writing of the article, nothing had been found. Daryl rose from the table and went to the phone. “I've got to call in and see what's going on with this."

  “Oh, Daryl,” Rachael exclaimed, now clearly wishing she hadn't showed the article to him. “Today was supposed to be our day off. Just the two of us, remember? We have reservations at the Getty Museum today. Or did you forget?"

  “I remember,” he said, holding his hand up to her as if admonishing her to hold her tongue for now while he dealt with this issue. “I just want to call the station and see what they know about this."

  “Okay.” Fair enough. She just hoped he didn't cave in to what she feared he would do—namely go into the station today, thus forgetting about their planned day off together after being apart for over a week.

  He had been extremely happy to see her when he picked her up at the airport and suggested that today and the following day be vacation days from their respective jobs—it would give them both a long weekend. He had gotten reservations for the Getty weeks before, and he thought a visit to the museum and dinner in town might be the ticket. She agreed, and had immediately started looking forward to it. But then she told him about what she'd found in South Bend—she simply had to tell him, it was bursting at the seams—and that was when his demeanor started crumbling. Suddenly, it became less important for him to spend the weekend with his girlfriend, the love of his life, than to forfeit those plans and spend the weekend working. Hence, his diving into work in the days following her arrival home. She should have known better that any new information she found in South Bend would have to be followed up and analyzed by him. Now there was this new murder in the Highland Park area. Just great!

  Rachael rose from the table and went upstairs, trying to block out Daryl's voice as he began asking whoever he was talking to what the hell was going on and why the hell hadn't anybody called him. She went into their bedroom and tried to bury the feelings of inadequacy she suddenly felt—why was it that when she met a man that she fell absolutely in love with there was always something that threatened to destroy the relationship? With her marriage, her husband had been prone to violence; with Daryl it was his workaholic nature and his obsession with this goddamn Butcher case. Sometimes it felt like Daryl didn't see her as a girlfriend anymore, but as a source for information and somebody to fuck whenever he got horny.

  She took her t-shirt and panties off and headed toward the bathroom for a shower.

  Don't think like this, she told herself. Daryl's the best thing that's ever happened to you.

  He just needs to get through this case and then it'll be over. You know how much his career is riding on this.

  Yeah, I know. But what about mine?

  She turned on the shower and adjusted the knobs until the water was warm, but not too hot to scorch her skin. She stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed, immersing herself in the warm, wet spray. She was just as excited about the information she had found in South Bend, and considered herself to be just as embroiled in the case as Daryl was. After all, she was one of the first reporters for the Times who started doing regular stories on the Butcher's killing spree. There was her own interest in the case from a journalist's point of view—the continuing pieces for the Times, and the book-in-progress. She had just as much at stake, and was just as excited about new events in the case or leads that looked promising. Which was why she had immediately brought up what she had found to Daryl on the drive home last night.

  She had told Daryl everything; how she had grilled the detectives in South Bend and visited the dump sights the victims had been found at. She told him about the burst of inspiration that led her to conduct her experiment; how she discovered it was only a thirty minute drive from the general downtown area where both identified victims were abducted, to the dump sights where they were found. She told him what the area was like at that particular time of night, and then she told him about her sudden brainstorm: the fact that the Red Light district was easy access to two major universities in the area: the University of Indiana, and Notre Dame University.

  “College kids basically take over that area between five p.m. and the wee hours of the morning,” she'd told Daryl. “They frequent the bars, pool halls, the strip joints, some of them frequent the adult video stores. They don't live in the area—the area is so bad, you wouldn't believe it. But some of them do keep apartments in the area, and it's all within walking distance of the red light district."

  “So you think the Butcher was a college kid when he started?” Daryl responded.

  “Jeez, Rachael, from the way you described it he could have been a business man who worked in the downtown area."

  “I know,” Rachael had said. She had thought about that as well, but her gut instinct told her that it was a college kid. “And I've thought about that, but I really think he was in college when he started."

  “Why do you think that?"

  “For one, he wouldn't look so out of place in the area. Anybody over forty hanging out in that area after nightfall looks suspicious, Daryl. If you're over forty and wearing a business suit you're automatically assumed to be a pervert or a john, which in most cases is true. For the most part, the college kids don't procure the services of street prostitutes unless they're unruly frat boys out for a night of partying. And if we assume these were his first kills we have to look at the patterns of other serial killers—a whopping ninety-five percent of them commit their first murders befo
re they are twenty-six."

  Daryl had started to nod and stroke his chin. “Hmmm. Interesting. What's the make-up of prostitution arrests in the area?"

  “Most of the arrests are of businessmen in the area and businessmen in town from other cities,” she said. “Another good percentage come from day laborers. College students make up a small percentage, but still—"

  “It's an interesting link,” Daryl said. “A very interesting link."

  He had stopped asking her about it then, retreating into his thoughts on the subject as they drove home, but he brought it up again after they had made love. They'd been lying in bed, buried beneath the blankets, drifting off to sleep when he broke the silence.

  “Did you talk to any college kids back there?"

  “A few,” she'd answered. “Not many."

  “Which school is closer?"

  “Notre Dame, actually. The University of Indiana is another five miles south of the downtown area, but I still saw a few college kids with University of Indiana sweatshirts and jackets in the area."

  “Where was the main residential area in the downtown area where the college kids lived?"

  “A few blocks to the south. Mostly apartments and row houses, but some of the neighborhoods had some rather cute homes. I'm sure it's quite feasible for a couple of kids away from home to chip in on rent and live in a two- or three-bedroom home."

  “True. Especially one with an attachable garage."

  “It would make it easier for him to carry the bodies to his car."

  “Right."

  They'd turned to each other in the darkness. Rachael had smiled. “God, we're telepathically connected."

  “You're right on that,” Daryl had said, kissing her.

  Rachael turned off the shower. She opened the shower curtain and grabbed her towel off the rack and began to dry herself off. Daryl was totally convinced now that the Butcher had been a college student, or associated with college students when the Indiana murders occurred. He revealed this to her today during breakfast, after which all conversation was cut off by her discovery of the story on the Highland Park murder. Now her day was probably shot to hell as well.