Random Acts of Cruelty

Taking sips of cognac seems to be the only warmth i'll find today. I slip two xanax between my teeth and chew them both up. Take another sip and swallow the alprazolam. This seems to be my only escape. Alcohol, pills, joints, sex. They all do the same thing, remove me from reality. I've been on a short trip to the hardware store just recently. I bought a rope a razor knife and a gallon of methyl ethyl ketone. But thats beside the point. I am a drug addict, it's that simple. In the morning I take ten hydrocodone, come lunch I swallow six or seven xanax bars, drink half a bottle of heaven hill vodka and smoke a joint of what my drug dealer calls "Green Crack". Does it help? I really don't fucking know. For me it's just a habit. Right now I am on a hunt, I guess. A hunt for another buzz, another escape. Perhaps i'm a closet fag or maybe i'm a serial killer waiting for the perfect time. Honestly, I don't know.

At the age of six I was molested. My older step brother had convinced me that oral sex was not a sin. So under the influence of my own sexuality I took his member into my mouth. Sometimes I would even go as far as to give him a rim job but it never felt right. Some nights he would force himself on me and ram his erect penis into my ass. At first I was reluctant but after a year or so of this I became accustomed to his advances. In some ways I suppose I enjoyed them. Before to long I was having sexual interactions with my step sister, with whom I was more willing to be violent toward. Once underneath her bed, in broad daylight, I raped her with a barbie doll. I had of course planned this out before hand. I cut the hair from the doll and maticulously placed fragments of nylon hair throughout the house. When I came to her she was quiet and almost at peace with the act. I forced the head of the doll into her vagina and pushed until half of her arms were inside. For the next three weeks she and I found pieces of hair everywhere imaginable. She'd come to me and say, "I found another!! Should I keep it?". I suppose it was a way of remembering what we had done. For some reason she liked it just as much as me. This would lead to countless nights of sex. At the age of nine I had only had two sexual partners. Both of them were step relatives. My favorite however was her. Some nights we wouldn't even sleep. I'd eat her out and let her suck me off countless times. Come 7 o clock we'd close our eyes and pretend as though we were asleep.

As a child I was raised christian. Church on the wednesday night and sunday morning. In their eyes homosexuality and incest was a sin so I always felt as though I was going to hell. Even though it was something that had been introduced to me at such a young age. I knew I was going to hell. So what did it matter? In retrospect this was the reason for my interaction with my sister. I did not fear any form of afterlife because I knew where I was going. In my eyes my whole life was a waste even at the age of ten. I had commited such atrocities, some that most children would never even imagine. When I felt nauseated I knew it was time for more. I'd rush to my step brother and pull down his pants. His dick was soft for the first few strokes but after a minute or two he was hard. Most of the time i'd let him come in my mouth but when I was feeling really sick i'd let him stick it in my ass. I found it to be a punishment. I never truly enjoyed it but it made me feel alive. It made me feel like I had reason in life. Perhaps I would one day burn in hell for the things that I did but I didn't care. I just let them progress.

I began to drink and take drugs heavily at the age of seventeen. My sexual life had become a mere remembrance of my younger days. By this point I was an atheist so the activities that I had once called "sins" were now just simple human characteristics. However I did not become homosexual nor did I continue with my incestual relationship. Instead I began to look at the opposite sex. They seemed more submissive and easier controllable. So I began thinking of them as my barbie doll collection. My first girlfriend was just as shy as she was beautiful. I suppose that in my eyes I saw her as some sort of prize but due to her introverted personality I found her mental stability very easily moldable. It was almost a game to me, playing with her emotions. I'd accuse her of sexual incompetence and have sex with her even when she didn't approve. Sometimes i'd tie her up and come in her ass. Of course at this point it all seemed natural so occasionally i'd videotape it. In return she began to invaginate. Before I knew it she was into self mutilation as well as heavy drinking. At first sight I pictured this as a sign of withdrawal and weakness and I enjoyed it. She was now my first obsession. During high school i'd walk her to her classes, sometimes i'd leave class early just to be at her classroom before the bell rang. If she ever felt as though she had enough nerve to leave me. I'd tie her up and fuck her so good she couldnt muster her true feelings.

This girl was now on a rampage of sorts. She would cut herself while masterbating or while I fucked her. At first I found this repulsive. On one occasion I threw up on her naked body. After those initial feelings of sickness I retreated into my already complicated mind and just let the urges become part of me. These actions in some way made me feel more like a man. Watching her cry and come simultaneously was more than enough satisfaction for me. At times I would penetrate her anally and slide razor blades down her back. After a while we both enjoyed it equally. She'd scream about how much it hurt but then insist that I do it again. And I would! I'd fuck her as hard as I could and slit her precious blue veins while coming. Only difference between her and I was that I didn't allow her to cut me and she wanted to. However I was not near as masochistic as my lover. I feared the thought of a blade slicing me but I enjoyed watching others in pain. Sometimes I'd lay her flat on her back and slice the insides of her thighs with a knife. Afterwards I would suck the open wounds and fill my mouth with blood. This served as a sort of lubrication for our sexual deviancy. I would slowly let the blood run over her pussy and lick it from top to bottom, making sure it was inside. Then we would have sex and crazy good sex it was. Toward the end of this relationship I put a few sleeping pills in her drink. As she passed out I tied her up and wrapped a red silk tie around her neck. Before she was completely unconscience I tightened the tie so much that I could see the veins on her forhead protrude. Her eyes showed signs of life but I knew in mere minutes she'd be dead. Before she died I forced a blade inside of her vagina. Cutting from the inside out I watched her facial expressions change from curiosity to fear. Sadly enough it was over in approximately three minutes. For the first time in eighteen years I finally felt what i'd been searching for my entire life. Pure sexual gratification through murder.

After her body ceased to obtain life I pulled the knife from inside her. It was covered in blood, dripping with vaginal juices. I licked it clean and stabbed her fifteen to twenty times. Every time the blade penetrated her flesh i'd grow more and more erect. At the same time though I felt remorse for what I had done. She was my lover, my baby, my barbie doll and now she was dead.

At the age of nineteen I decided to continue with school. I attended a private university with a 5 to 1 girl to guy ratio. Everywhere I turned I saw fresh meat, new dolls for my taking. Throughout my entire life i'd always been attractive. My eyes were a deep almost hypnotic blue, my hair was dark and my stature was fully developed by the age of nineteen. Not to mention the member in which most girls obsess over, my penis. Fully erect it was every bit of eight inches, they loved it. Within my first semester I was having sex with multiple different girls. My dorm room became a place for orgys and drugs. Some days i'd have six girls in my room at once. We'd exchange different pills, drink various liquors and fuck who ever we wanted. For them it was the greatest thing ever but for me it was torture. Having such a vast difference of opinion as to what was sexually gratifying made it hard for me to participate. None of these girls were into the things I was. Most of them didn't even let me pull their hair but I finally found one who seemed moldable.

I could sense the same personality traits as my previous lover in her. Her wrists were usually covered by long sleeves or little sweat bands with clever little sayings on them. With a little ecstacy I convinced her to stay with me in a hotel room one night. Within thirty minutes of her initial buzz she began to strip off her clothes. First was her jacket then her shirt. But that wasn't at all that I was interested in. I wanted to see her wrists. She pulled her pants down and without warning I grabbed her warm flesh. My fingers slid underneath her panties and I felt her warm wet pussy. She removed her bra and every bit of her became revealed. Her skin was a pale soft white, almost vampiric. It was perhaps the only time I ever got a hard on from just seeing a girl naked. It still wasn't enough for me. I had to know if she was a cutter. Would she let me cut her or would I have to make that decision for her?

I bent her over the bed and immediatly penetrated her anally. From my back pocket I pulled a razor knife and slid it down her side. I watched the blood drip from the wound and she was so high she didn't even realize it. I fucked her harder. Switching holes occasionally to distract her from the random cutting. It didn't take long for her to realize what was happening and her expression changed rather quickly. I'd seen this reaction before but was it positive or negative? Did she like it or not? I got my answer when she started to scream. Before she could complete her cry for help I pressed a pillow against her face. Pulling my fist back I slammed its solidified mass into her face. The bones cracked and her screams became more faint. In mere seconds her body was lifeless. Instead of pulling out I came inside her. She was my first and last victim in that college town. Instead of leaving her on her back I flipped her over on her stomach. I pulled a doll from my bag and forced it into her ass. Afterwards I slit her throat from left to right. This was the first signature I ever left. This was my first sign of evolution.

By this point in time i'd reached the age of twenty. My delusional mind had become more of a burden than any drug. I was now taking pills to try and suppress these feelings. Drinking four pints a day of vodka was not uncommon. Instead of school i'd learned to work from home. Selling things on ebay to pay the bills. I had removed myself from society completely. It seemed to be the safest place for me and for the potential victims I would meet in the outside world. I even ordered my food alchohol and pills off of the internet. It's amazing what you can find with just ten fingertips. Don't you think? In order to quench my insatiable thirst for indecent sexual practices, I would cut my own wrists and masterbate with the blood. After a while the homosexual experiences i'd had as a child began to resurface in my mind. I suddenly craved a male but instead of admitting to myself that I may have been gay. I penetrated myself with anything I could find. Sometimes forcing entire dildos in my ass. The dildo wasn't the relieving factor though, I had to cut my wrists. In some weird way I had become what I always found myself craving in my victims. I was weak and submissive. Sometimes i'd swallow fifty xanax trying to kill myself but it was never enough. For some fucking reason I could not end it. I could end anyones life I felt like taking but I could not end my own. If I ate fifty pills i'd throw them back up. If I cut my wrists i'd wake up drenched in blood, fully erect. Why was I trapped in this world? Why had my mind become a prison for me? How long could I keep myself trapped inside of this house?

On the first day of my return to society I felt whole. The world seemed to have a clear reason for me being here. I did not seem to crave my old habits and if I felt them creeping up i'd retreat to my sanctuary. Sometimes i'd watch porn or even the occasional chick flick. Anything that kept my mind off of releasing this built up negativity. Outside i'd see little children playing and mothers watching over their kids like hawks. It was completely understandable considering the fact that most people will never be who you think they are. Most people can hide things within themselves that would frighten even the most seasoned therapist. For reasons which I have disclosed, I am one of those people. However I would never harm a child. As a matter of fact I hope that any child who endures what I have will overcome their lack of nurture and attention. Perhaps they will become doctors or writers. I just hope they don't become me. Without risking the chance of irony I will not say "God Willing". I will only say raise you're fucking kids. Do not turn your back and pray to the invincible man in the sky that you're children turn out right. Be there, watch them grow, throw a ball or watch a dance rehearsal. Do everything you can to stop them from becoming what I have become.

The illusion of a clear mind did not last long. Before my first month of returning came to an end I realized that this was only the beginning. Hell had manifested itself within my veins and my brain would succumb to whatever thought I had, if I was drinking. For some reason though I could not stop. It helped me to calculate each thought when I was fucked up. Or maybe it slowed them down to a pace in which I could fully comprehend. Whatever the synopsis I was back and I was in the mood to catch up on the time I had wasted.

My third victim was a white male. I met him at a bar just outside of town and when I saw him I knew he would be mine. His hair was a light brown color with brown highlights throughout, his eyes were green and his skin tone was an eloquent brownish tint. He was beautiful. At first I did not approach him for fear of rejection. I had never attempted to pick up a guy so I just sat back and watched. Women were flocking around him trying to pull his attention away from whatever was flowing through his sweet mind. They did so without satisfaction. He completely ignored them, which led me to believe that I may have a chance. It's funny, now that I think about it I almost felt love. For some odd reason I clearly lost my sense of being when I stared at him. It was almost as if his entity had penetrated my mind and released all demons within it. Was I falling for him or was the sickness simply evolving?