She removed her helmet and her long black hair spilled out and cascaded down over her shoulders. She shook her hair out and ran a finger through it, feeling foolish, like she was recreating a scene from some movie where a starlet with perfect hair and makeup, dressed to look like a tough biker-chick, removes her helmet for no particular reason and stands there straddling the bike and flipping her hair around. The fact that Selene was straddling a scooter just made it all the more ridiculous.
She fumbled her keys into the lock and unlocked her little mailbox. It was all she could do to keep from squealing. She immediately recognized the handwriting on the plain white envelope. Amongst the advertising fliers, coupons, unpaid bills, and supermarket circulars was a letter from Joseph Miles. She tore open the tiny envelope and read the entire letter right there by the mailbox.
Joseph never wrote long letters. That was the odd thing about him. She had two friends who corresponded with prisoners and they both regularly received letters at least ten pages long. Joseph Miles seldom wrote more than a page. He said it was because anything he wanted to say would have been heavily edited by the guards or destroyed before it ever reached her. But she had never received a letter that had been edited. She knew they edited the letters she sent to him but wasn’t so sure it worked in reverse. She had no doubt they read them and would have turned over any incriminating statements he might have made to the warden or even the district attorney’s office, but that would have only been if he’d confessed to a crime or was in the process of trying to commit one. That’s what Selene thought anyway. She wasn’t sure. So, to her, Joseph’s short but sweet letters were just another of his many personality quirks.
Her heart was racing. Her palms perspired and her panties grew damp. The letter was written with Joseph’s normal flourish of praise and promises that left her wanting more.
She didn’t know why Joseph Miles affected her so powerfully, but she had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted the convicted serial killer. Just thinking about his massive, muscular arms wrapped around her, his lips against her throat, the feel of his teeth biting into her flesh, tearing her apart while he fucked the shit out of her made her literally swoon. She and Joseph Miles had never so much as exchanged a kiss, yet she was completely obsessed with him. She gunned the Vespa’s engine and hurried home to read the letter again, hoping her roommates would not be home so she could take a nice long, hot bath with scented candles, bubbles, bath salts, a glass of wine, Joseph’s letter, and the eight-inch dildo she had affectionately nicknamed “Big Joe.”
The letter had once again confirmed Joe’s affection for her. But it wasn’t just Joe’s affections she was after. She wanted his passion as well, not just to feel it but to possess it. She wanted to feel what he felt. She wanted to know the ecstasy he knew when he murdered and mutilated those people. She clutched the letter to her chest and turned the little scooter around. It wasn’t quite time to go home yet. She had a few ideas first.
San Francisco was a serial killer’s paradise. There were so many underground sex clubs, S&M dungeons, brothels, bath houses, seedy bars and night clubs, and other pick-up joints that a predator could go undetected for years—at least until the bodies began to surface. It was in one such club, called The Backdoor, that Joseph had met Alicia and his homicidal impulses had first roared out of control. It was to that same club that Selene drove now.
She’d driven past it many times since she’d first learned of its existence. South of Market, just east of Sixth Street was an innocuous-looking building that housed the now notorious swingers club, The Backdoor. Joe had been the one who first told her about the club as he described his meeting with Alicia over a prison payphone on one of the rare occasions he was allowed to use the phone. She’d probed him for details and he had eagerly supplied them. Joe had appeared delighted by her curiosity and happy to relive what was obviously a fond memory for him.
“What does it look like?”
“It isn’t that exciting from the outside. It’s just a regular storefront with blacked-out windows and a little silver plaque by the front door that says ‘The Backdoor.’ You’d easily pass by it a dozen times if you didn’t know where to look. But once you know where it is, it’s impossible to overlook.”
He’d been right. Ever since he’d told her where to find it, she’d stared longingly at it whenever she passed by, wishing she had been there that night long ago when Joe showed up with a raging hard-on and an appetite to match.
“And what’s it like inside?” she’d asked.
“It’s magical! A sex addict’s paradise. When you first walk in, there’s a coat check girl who you can leave your clothes with. They prefer everyone to be naked but a lot of people keep their clothes on. Inside, there’s a bar, a dance floor, and even a stage where bands sometimes play. There’s a hot tub and a pool outside. Then there are the theme rooms.”
“Theme rooms?”
“Each room is different. There’s a room called the Orgy Room that has a bed that stretches from wall to wall and can easily hold ten couples at a time. There’s a dungeon that has a crucifix with shackles on it, stocks, and even a rack. There’s a room filled with dildos and other mechanical sex devices, and there are condom dispensers and sanitizing gels in every room. Most of the people there are in their thirties, forties, and fifties and look kind of like your high school English teacher, but there are always enough twenty-somethings to balance out the fat, hairy, wrinkled perverts. Enough to make the trip worthwhile. There’s always someone there who can get you off.” She could almost hear the smile in his voice when he said it. “I met my Alicia there. It was one of the best nights of my life. I’d love to take you there someday,” Joe had said.
For all of her jealousy at the constant mention of Alicia, Selene had been intrigued and aroused by the idea of fucking the big cannibal in front of an audience. She’d likewise been intrigued by the idea of a house full of sex addicts.
Selene piloted her little red Vespa scooter into the gravel-covered parking lot, bumping along like she was riding a horse rather than something with an engine and tires. It was only six o’clock in the evening. The sun had just begun its slow decent and the shadows were growing longer moment by moment. Already the parking lot was filled with sports cars, SUVs, trucks, and old Fords and Chevys. At least three dozen vehicles and two taxis pulled up as she sat there in the parking lot with her engine idling. One contained a couple only slightly older than Selene dressed in black leather and lace, the woman wore a corset and hip-boots with six-inch heels and he wore a leather vest and chaps, shirtless and pants-less. They held hands and skipped into the club, giggling like school kids.
The next car that pulled up held three guys in their twenties, frat boys by the looks of them, who looked like they were already drunk, and a young, freckled redheaded woman of about the same age who looked like they’d paid for her. She was wearing a catholic school skirt that barely covered her red panties, white knee-high leggings, and big clunky patent leather heels that she was having difficulty walking in. Her white button-down blouse was tied in the front to reveal her flat, freckled stomach.
The frat boys threw money through the window of the taxi and then staggered inside, dragging the girl behind them. She looked reluctant and borderline terrified. Selene rethought her assessment of the girl. She was obviously not a pro. The frat boys had probably dressed her that way for the evening. She was probably one of their girlfriends or at least thought she was or would be after this evening. It was more likely that she was about to be passed around and then sent home alone in that same taxi, dripping in semen and reeking of Astroglide. If she had the chance, Selene thought, she’d warn the girl before she lost everything that was innocent about her.
Selene pulled the scooter to a halt in front of the club next to the Harleys, Kawasakis, and Suzuki crotch rockets. The first person she saw when she walked in was a large bouncer sitting on a stool by the coat-check girl. He had short gray hair, gray-green eyes, and a hand
lebar moustache. His heavily muscled arms were covered with tattoos. He was dressed modestly in a black T-shirt and blue jeans with black motorcycle boots. Selene guessed that one of the Harleys parked outside probably belonged to him.
“ID.”
Selene pulled a slim wallet on a chain from her front pocket and fished out her California driver’s license. The big biker stared at the license for what seemed like a full minute. Behind him on a wall covered with photographs of swingers partying it up at the club from the early seventies to today was a sign that said “Couples $50, Single men $65, Single women Free!”
“Go on in. You can leave your clothes with coat check.”
Selene wore a sundress that was practically see-through, and that was as naked as she planned to get until the situation demanded it. She was still not completely comfortable with the weight she’d gained and was not quite ready to strip down in front of strangers. It was different when she was modeling and getting paid for it. Anyone who hired her knew what they were getting. Since she’d gained the thirty-five pounds of fat and muscle for Joseph, she had gotten twice as many runway jobs, her first print jobs, and had become the most popular art model in the area. Had she known there was such a market for plus-sized models she would have gained the weight long ago. She knew there were many women who would have objected to her use of the term plus-sized. Even with the added weight she was still only a size nine, well under the national average of a size twelve or fourteen but a far cry from the size one she had been.
She walked past an emaciated coat-check girl with pierced nipples, two sleeves of tattoos completely covering both arms, and stars tattooed on both shoulders like the Russian mob. She had long black hair like Selene’s, but hers was obviously a dye job. She looked just as Joseph had described her, with the exception of the star tattoos. She must have added those since Joseph was here last. She had the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. Those too must have been added since Joseph’s last visit. Selene suspected that hard drugs, alcohol, and bulimia had prematurely aged her.
The smell of air-freshener, pussy, sweat, lubricant, and semen hung heavy in the air. The unmistakable scent of Pine Sol lingered in the air as well and that was a relief. At least someone had made an effort to clean and disinfect the place. Selene wondered how often the floors and walls were scrubbed, sheets changed, sex toys disinfected. No matter how often it was, it couldn’t have been often enough to keep up with the constant deluge of bodily fluids. A sign pointed upstairs to the “Couples only” rooms where no single men or women were allowed and announced that this was the only place where couples were free to dispense with condoms. Downstairs, condoms were mandatory and anyone found not using them would be asked to leave. Selene tried her best to follow the logic and failed.
The bar was fully stocked and looked like what you would see at any nightclub in the city, except the barstools were wrapped in disposable plastic covers and the patrons were mostly nude, though quite a few of the women wore lingerie and a few of the men were fully clothed. Somehow the men who were still wearing their street clothes struck Selene as the creepiest. She wondered if she looked just as creepy as they did walking around in a yellow sundress and pink Crocs. She walked up to the bar and all eyes, male and female, instantly landed on her. Smiles widened, eyes blazed with lust, and a few of the men who were completely naked rose to salute her. Selene smiled and slightly blushed. It was probably the most flattering welcome she’d ever received. Joseph had been right though. Most of the men were old and fat and so were most of the women, except the ones who had come alone and Selene suspected that most of them were prostitutes. She wondered if they thought she was a prostitute too and then realized that most working girls didn’t wear yellow sundresses. Her decision to come to the club had been so sudden she hadn’t had time to change into anything more seductive.
Selene ordered an apple martini from the bartender and leaned against the bar, sipping her drink as she scanned the room. There was a small dance floor and several couples had taken to it as the DJ changed the music from techno to an old school Madonna song to George Michael singing, “I Want Your Sex!” Everyone looked absurd as they shook, shimmied, and gyrated to the music, sex organs and mammary glands bouncing and flopping, asses and bellies rippling and jiggling. This was perhaps the least attractive group of people Selene had ever seen. Perhaps coming so early had been a mistake. Most of the people she knew around her age didn’t even leave the house until after 10:00 p.m. to go clubbing and it was only—Selene checked her watch—6:23 p.m. No one came out this early except people who had to get home to cook dinner for the kids or the truly lonely and desperate.
The frat boys who’d come in with the girl who looked like she might have still been a virgin as recently as last week passed by the dance floor on their way out to the pool. Selene followed, still sipping her martini. The guys all looked like assholes, but at least they were near her age. Besides, she was feeling protective toward the young girl and wanted to make certain that anything that happened to her was consensual, though she wasn’t sure if the girl was even old enough to know the difference. If the guy at the front had checked her ID, he was either blind, stupid, or had been handsomely bribed. Of course it was possible the girl looked younger than she was. Possible, but doubtful.
The pool was filled with couples, threesomes, and even foursomes, furiously copulating in various positions. A black woman in her forties with huge fake breasts and fake platinum blonde hair was bent over a deck chair being fucked in the ass by a young, muscular Latino guy with acne on his back and shoulders and a tattoo of the Virgin Mary in the center of his chest. He looked almost ten years her junior. Beside him an even younger Mexican guy with skinny tattoo-covered arms and a fat belly had a large Mexican woman with big, flabby, pendulous breasts in a similar position, bent over a chair, grunting and thrusting in her dimpled, cottage cheese covered ass. Every now and then the two guys would high-five each other. In the hot tub, a curvaceous Filipino woman in her twenties sat on the edge of the tub while an older white guy in his late thirties/early forties knelt between her thighs, lapping at her clitoris like he was trying to remove a stain. At the other end of the hot tub, two gray-haired men were sharing a large woman in pigtails who looked close to Selene’s age though easily twice her weight. Despite her size, the woman’s breasts were disproportionately small. Her belly easily stuck out further than her tits. She was grinning like she’d won the lottery as she was penetrated from behind by one of the older gentleman and had her mouth full of the other. The hot tub was oily with bodily fluid. The thought of doing anything in that cesspool made Selene’s stomach threaten to revolt. Yet the couples splashing around in the water seemed to be having the time of their lives.
“Disgusting,” Selene hissed. She spotted one of the frat boys staring at her from the other side of the pool. He was tall with an athletic build, blond hair, blue eyes, freckles, and a cock that appeared slightly larger than six inches. Not exactly big, but far more than she would have given him credit for. He just missed being cute by an inch and a weak chin that disappeared into his neck. But he was handsome enough that, with a little sweet talking and a bit of confidence/arrogance, he could entice a few pretty girls with low self-esteem into his bed. He was the one who’d been dragging the young girl in the Catholic school skirt into the club earlier. Selene looked for the girl and found her by the diving board, sandwiched between the freckled kid’s two friends, being double-penetrated. One of the frat boys, a tall lanky guy with long hair, thrust his stubby penis in her vagina with her legs draped over his shoulders while his shorter, chubbier friend stretched her rectum with his own impressive organ. It was the blonde kid who she’d thought was the girl’s boyfriend.
The expression on the young girl’s face was not one of enjoyment but of grudging acceptance. Her eyes remained on the freckled kid the entire time. Selene felt a white-hot rage burning within her. She wanted to tear all three of those college assholes apart and res
cue the girl. She reached into one of the large pockets in her sundress and found the small can of pepper spray attached to her keychain. It wasn’t much as offensive weaponry goes, and it wasn’t very accurate either. If she sprayed the two guys, she’d get the girl too. It would be easy to explain why she’d pepper sprayed two college assholes in a sex club. Just about any lie would have worked, starting with attempted rape. But pepper spraying the girl would have been harder to explain. Besides, she couldn’t play heroine to every naïve young whore who crossed her path.
The boy with the nice body was making his move toward her, and Selene’s hand tightened on the pepper spray even as she plastered a seductive smile on her face and demurely dropped her eyes. The boy was just a few feet away from her when an idea came to Selene, the real reason she’d come here.
“You’re much too pretty to still be wearing clothes,” the boy said. “My name is Mark and you’re …”
“Quite horny but disgusted with this place. I can’t imagine how many diseases are floating around that pool.”
Mark looked at the pool like he was seeing it for the first time. “Yeah, you’re right. Want to go someplace else? Like to my place?”
Selene smiled. “How far is it?”
“I live just off Seventeenth and Mission Avenue. We can take a taxi.”
“I came on my scooter. Just give me your address. I’ll meet you there.”
Mark looked at her suspiciously and then turned back toward his friends.
Selene reached out and stroked his cock, which immediately got his attention. “I promise, I’ll be there. I told you I was horny. Do you need to say goodbye to your friends?”
Prey Drive Page 9