Confessions of a teenage nymphomaniac

It was in the darkened capacity of my bedroom when i formulated the idea. I was lying in the center of my bedroom floor, completely naked, waiting for some sort of astral projection to occur. The cieling fan was creaking away at its highest level, sending little occasional cold bursts of monetray excitement down to my positioning on the floor. Doing my best to think about absolutely nothing, a phantasmagoric slide show kept springing into the view behind my closed eyelids of that girl that i am completely and utterly enamored with. At first they were just still framed pictures; a lot of smiles and blushes, until they eventually progressed into motion. It began to upset me so much that i completely gave up on the idea of any sort of astral projection and decided to try my luck at writing something instead. How could i concentrate on nothing with something like that on my mind anyways? But i inevitably ended up with the same results. Best to just drink away, i thought. Now allowing myself to imagine the certain individual, i began to make a quick list of thinkgs i could do to alleviate the predicament. A lot of them contained the idea to tell her how i feel, etcetera, etcetera. Somewhere in the midst of my list, a good friend of mine whom we'll call X, had come over and we began drinking together. At some point in the evening, i had voiced my inability to do anything sufficiently anymore. X satirically recommended that i just kill her. So i suppose i really didnt come up with the idea myself, or in the darkened capacity of my bedroom for that matter. Thats just where the story starts, and this is where i begin to feel much too much like Edgar Allen Poe: A tickling sensation was procured in my mind at the thought, and i could not keep myself from smiling throughout the duration of the evening. After a few days, my thoughts went from vivid pictures of my minds most excitingly intellectual and emotional admiration, to a gamut of sleazy snuff films. To make a short story even shorter, i had become friendly enough with her that i was one day invited to a viewing of a movie in her company at her house, where there would be nobody there. I utilized the experience to gain an insight to the blueprint of her house, where i would most likely accomplish the deed. I waited out the time, and a few weeks had gone by before i was invited once again. I cant, for the life of me, remember the name of the film, but i remember sitting and watching a suave, deep voiced black man enticing a young white woman into his bedroom. Once there, the man viciously beat the girl to death with repetative bludgeons to the face. At this point in the film, i expressed my admiration for the girl, and we did that thing where you hold hands, peck on the cheek and such. Afterwards, i tried to entice her into her own bedroom. Eventually coercing her into her bedroom, i closed the door behind us and locked it. By this point in time, i was still acting suave, when a blunt force from behind me sent stars shooting in my head and the next thing i remembered was an angry old man standing above me, spitting something racially predjudiced into my face. Standing directly adjacent to him was the girl, holding a smoking soldering iron. I told him i wasnt really going to do it, and he backhanded me a couple of times and called me faggot.
"your in for it now, buddy," he said, hitting me again.
"Yeah," She piped
I tried to remain submissive, or rather, was submissive due to my position in the game.