horror stories

when I answered that Craigslist ad, part 3

Hello, readers! My name is Rudolph Baylor. I am composing and submitting this narrative of the other night's events from my, and our, friend's account for reasons I will momentarily reveal. For the sake of full disclosure, I must admit I am the man with whom he has been working. For those unfamiliar with our time together, please see the mildly-stylized narratives and .

Now that we are on the same page, I will provide a bit of personal backstory heretofore unknown to you all.

As I mentioned above, I am Rudolph Baylor. I'm 52 years old. In what now seems like a past life, I was a day-trader who made quite a bit of money in the forex markets during the early growing-pains of the Euro adoption. I'm by no means a King Midas, but I'll just say I've been quite fortunate.

One of the problems with making enough money in a few years to last one's lifetime is trying to fill the following years with purpose. I ended up doing what many, many people have done when searching for purpose: I trawled the Internet. Most of this trawling was to kill time. I make no effort to hide that fact. As a man uninterested in the hedonia that drives others to seek social and sexual interactions, I sought intellectual stimulation on the World Wide Web.

Between 2002 and 2011, I read hundreds of thousands of journals, followed the rise and fall of popular online fora, and became a prolific contributor to Wikipedia. If this sounds like a boring life, you may compliment yourself on having good analytical instincts. The problem was, my options were (and are) limited.

Some of you may have gathered, based on my partner's accounts of our time together, that I have a superhuman ability to ignore pain. Unfortunately, there is nothing superhuman about it. Congenital analgesia carries great risks – not only to my physical well-being, but to my pride; not being able to feel pain means not being able to feel the pressure of my bladder or bowels. I make timed trips to the restroom every day to prevent an accident. Leaving the controlled environment of my home carries more unpredictability than I wish to endure. You can imagine how difficult my school years were; especially when the only physical sensations I seem to be able to feel involves tickling.

I've digressed. In an effort to make this biographical tirade short, I will endeavor to get, as they say, to the point. The latter portion of my Internet research time became highly specialized as I developed a strong interest in herpetology – specifically gecko lizards. Those wishing for an explanation as to why those animals resonated so deeply within me will come away disappointed. Anyone's guess is as good as mine. The best I can come up with is that it is simply a manifestation of body dysmorphia resultant from my experiences as a child with my medical condition.

My self-diagnosis of body dysmorphia led me to research the condition and seek out biographical accounts of other sufferers. The vast majority of those accounts were from victims of eating disorders, and, more recently, from transgender individuals. Very few people claimed to experience a feeling of belonging to another species. The few I did encounter, mostly on websites such as Tumblr and Reddit, labeled themselves as x-kin, with the x representing the animal with which they identified. Therefore, in the parlance of our times, I guess I am a geckokin.

Assuming I'd only be happy once I at least attempted to "become" that which I felt so close to, I placed the Craigslist ad, met my partner, and everything went basically according to the two stories that preceded this one.

Now, as for why this is being posted from his account, the answer is very simple: I followed him home, knocked him out, and have tied him to his kitchen table.

Why am I telling you all of this? For those asking that question, good for you! From one inquisitive mind to another, I appreciate your investigative drive. I'm telling you all of this to raise awareness of what happens when someone with a severe mental disturbance has no choice but to act on his urges. If I were to admit my geckokin nature to a professional, all it would lead to would be an attempt to "treat" my condition rather than help me embrace who I really am. I know who I am; or, at least who I will be. It's unfortunate for my partner here that he needs to experience what I'm certain will be a great level of discomfort, but all great leaps forward in societal progress have their casualties. On some level, I'm sure he will understand.