Defective - A Psychopath's Tale

Chapter 2 - House And Home?

My Sheila was a smaller town country gal; whom oddly enough I'd met in the big city, the concrete jungle, the cesspool of humanity, NewBrittanCity. I was on the job, not looking to fall in love. That simply wasn't an option in my line of work. I always held to the four F's rule, Find em', Feel em', Fuck em' Forget em. I was just looking for a warm place to stick my cock for the night. But Sheila was different.

Tourists weren't my bag. I avoided hotel lounges and tourist hang outs. Most of what you found there were married girls. Some were looking to score, others could be talked into it. Either way, I didn't want another boy's girl. The rest in the hotel and tourist scene were older single girls, widows, hens that never married and the rare divorcee. I like mine young and fun. When I was in my teens I'd played with dames in their thirties, forties and fifties. I thought older girls would have more experience and would be fun. It didn't take me long to resolve that the girls of these age brackets were filled with worry; they usually had some way to diminish the fun factor in a night together.

My mood typically determined where I would go twat hunting. After a long day of work, there was nothing that eased the stress and relaxed the body like a nice warm, sloppy wet, ambrosia scented twat mashed into your face. Girls, they were the best part of humanity. I always took care of my companion for the night first. What really pumped my nads was the female orgasm; the expressions on their faces, the look in their eyes, the way their body shuddered, moved and twitched while they were climaxing. Most boys only cared about popping their rocks, not me; what satisfied me was giving a girl the best nighttime pleasure I could. My tongue was amazing, not by my own declaration, but by the cornucopia of girls that had experienced my talents and told me as much, and by the collection of telle numbers I had. Some I kept, most I threw away. Sadly, repeat performances were something my profession simply didn't encourage.

Like I said, mood was a major factor in the type of girl I would seek out. Red heads, blondes, and the luscious brunettes, my personal preference, as long as they were at least 16 (the legal age of consent in the state of New Brittan) and under 25, 28, the upper number could vary depending on presentation, attitude and intelligence; all were in my window of opportunity as long as the girl wasn't stupid, a waste of air stupid; you know, blonde. My mood of the moment would determine the type of companion I would seek out, and thus the location I would seek satisfaction in.

Cannabis lounges where stylish and intriguing gothic girls frequented or coffee and poetry bars; pure intellectuals were also often in the mingle with the tantalizing gothic breed here or in the lounges of libraries and museums. They had an allure all their own. Just as creative as the gothic breed, only on a different level, more primal?. Both of these cultures tended to favor more ruff interactions unlike the debutantes, prima donnas and party girls. I avoided the prima donnas type; they usually were gold diggers, unlicensed prostitutes that expected you to pay for their company with other means than cash that required, cash. They wanted you to buy things they ogled over for them.

This latter group is why it was best to dress upper to middle middle class and not on the high end, which was where I typically dressed in day to day life. If you looked like money, the prima donnas were all to willing to give you their favors for the night, for a price. They couldn't legally ask for money if they weren't a licensed prostitute, that would get them slammer time, so they exacted their fees by means of casually mentioning how much they wanted a piece of jewelry, clothing, furniture or whatever they drug you out to see in some merchants display. Until you purchased the item for them, you'd get no soft, warm, moist place for the night.

If you looked middle class, the prima donnas would turn their face away from you and not allow you the privilege of even their conversation. The girls whom would converse with you, joke, laugh, smoke, drink and dance were the ones that were out for fun and entertainment; just looking for a good time and good memories. My breed of girl. Sometimes I would buy them a little something, for the extra special ones that really tugged at me. I'd send it to them or have it delivered after I was gone. Maybe with a personal, typed, note... maybe.