I had a girlfriend here in Seattle who was fascinated by serial killers. Being that the Seattle area was home to Ted Bundy and Gary Ridgway it sort of makes sense.
She would take me on leisurely tours of Seattle and the surrounding areas and visit the places where Ted Bundy picked up his women and where Gary Ridgway buried HIS women.
Then she would want to have sex. Right there. On the spot. Now.
We had sex by dumpsters in the alley by where Ted Bundy had picked up one victim, she gave me a blow-job in the back pool room of Dante's Bar: some places we visited two times, three times, or more.
On one of the visits to Ridgway's sites we were having sex, with her on her hands and knees, and she suddenly got very excited -- she thought she had found a small piece of a victim's bone in the dirt. It turned out to be the remains of a small animal, but she took the bone with her, anyway, saying it was all spiritually connected.
At another site she asked me to choke her gently as we had sex by the Green River, and -- although that wasn't a favorite in my sexual repertoire -- I complied: what can I say? It made her happy. She would giggle like a small child.
Then the "what if?" games started.
"What if we took a young girl out to one of these spots and strangled her? Would that turn you on?"
"What if we took a young girl out to one of these spots and you had sex with her, and then we strangled her?"
"What if we took a young girl out to one of these spots and WE had sex with her, and then we strangled her?"
The subject made me uncomfortable, made only more so when she asked "What if it was her room-mate?"
Part of my uncomfortableness was that her room-mate was HOT. Sure, I'd like to have sex with her, but -- No -- I didn't want to strangle her in the woods and then come back a year later to look for her skull: I know the difference between Right and Wrong.
On one of our final trips we were at a Ridgway site where she pretended she was dead while I fucked her. Then she asked me to bury her a little. I said I didn't have a shovel but she replied that she had put one in the trunk of the car, so: I buried her a little.
Anyway, our relationship lost its steam once it was clear that I didn't really want to strangle her room-mate to death, and we drifted apart.
Maybe, somewhere out there, she will find the man of her Dreams who will make all her Wishes come True.
I am Laslo.
She would take me on leisurely tours of Seattle and the surrounding areas and visit the places where Ted Bundy picked up his women and where Gary Ridgway buried HIS women.
Then she would want to have sex. Right there. On the spot. Now.
We had sex by dumpsters in the alley by where Ted Bundy had picked up one victim, she gave me a blow-job in the back pool room of Dante's Bar: some places we visited two times, three times, or more.
On one of the visits to Ridgway's sites we were having sex, with her on her hands and knees, and she suddenly got very excited -- she thought she had found a small piece of a victim's bone in the dirt. It turned out to be the remains of a small animal, but she took the bone with her, anyway, saying it was all spiritually connected.
At another site she asked me to choke her gently as we had sex by the Green River, and -- although that wasn't a favorite in my sexual repertoire -- I complied: what can I say? It made her happy. She would giggle like a small child.
Then the "what if?" games started.
"What if we took a young girl out to one of these spots and strangled her? Would that turn you on?"
"What if we took a young girl out to one of these spots and you had sex with her, and then we strangled her?"
"What if we took a young girl out to one of these spots and WE had sex with her, and then we strangled her?"
The subject made me uncomfortable, made only more so when she asked "What if it was her room-mate?"
Part of my uncomfortableness was that her room-mate was HOT. Sure, I'd like to have sex with her, but -- No -- I didn't want to strangle her in the woods and then come back a year later to look for her skull: I know the difference between Right and Wrong.
On one of our final trips we were at a Ridgway site where she pretended she was dead while I fucked her. Then she asked me to bury her a little. I said I didn't have a shovel but she replied that she had put one in the trunk of the car, so: I buried her a little.
Anyway, our relationship lost its steam once it was clear that I didn't really want to strangle her room-mate to death, and we drifted apart.
Maybe, somewhere out there, she will find the man of her Dreams who will make all her Wishes come True.
I am Laslo.
