Journals of a Psychopath



A novel of high quality, packed with interesting scenes.


Hailing me to her booth, it was in the recess. Kaitlin’s skin was similar to alabaster and her mammary glands faultless disks of flesh. Kaitlin’s waist was tiny, her hair auburn, it matched her intense nature.
      “How are you?” Kaitlin asked.
I pondered pertinent to Kaitlin's stolen virginity. Kaitlin’s mother walked in, I grinned, she did a double take. She hated me, because I hurt her daughter badly.
      “You can take your eyes from Kaitlin’s pussy you already had it,” her mother said.
      “Very satisfying it was too.”
      “The baby was aborted and Kaitlin is distraught you evil bastard.”
      “It is fortunate the child did not survive, I did not want it, and the thing was deformed, it tried to suck the life from her. She would grow weary caring for it and the child would never be normal.”


      “Scan the mirror,” the Mutterer said.
Analising, a woman was reflected in the glass, small-boned, very slim I saw the little breasts protrude from her chest. Her skin seemed translucent and her silvery-blonde hair was long. She seemed an odd type to be in a bar alone. Hearkening to Curtis’s tone it increased my rage. Sipping liquor, my eyes relocated from the mirror, refocusing, a guy named Dalton chatted to her. Dalton’s pale skin was partly hidden by a beard the mass of hair untrimmed and his body was very slim.
Dalton’s visual assault on Curtis continued, his mates surveyed the event leered at their pal. Gazing at them often he gained confidence, no matter how hard he endeavoured, failure was his. Curtis visited the washroom and the men chuckled, teased in relation to the prospect of his success. Returning, Curtis seemed edgy, she positioned her purse on the bar, Curtis's eyes met mine. The thought about Dalton’s death scuttled in my mind, the Presenter informed it was the incorrect period to execute. Seeing Curtis’s discomposure and the lustful way he ogled her, rage visited.
      “Leave this place! You cannot kill him he is not worthy of your effort,” the Speaker said.

An Encounter

Dashing to fire the old Harley, speeding down the road, I observed two sisters and their brother. Standing talking, the two female siblings appeared similar, unfortunately, possessed silvery-blonde hair, which shone in the sun. Their skin was smooth. Handsome and the brother was rugged, his hair thick, the brother’s body slim and strong. Halting the Harley and I bent to it, eavesdropping on the dialogue I did not look. Two young adults were with them, the teenagers belonged to the sisters a cheery mood embraced the kinfolk.
      “Grandfather is ahead,” the youngest sister said.
Lanky and thin, Galen’s skin furrowed his perpetual frown marked it. Conservative and he sported a tie, Galen’s clothes were dated, his hair greasy, unkempt. Hurrying along the sidewalk and he entered a store. The brother told a joke and the sisters chuckled, I did not hear what he said. Catching my eye and the minor-pack squashed together. I moved on and reached the food-stand, I bought a hot dog, doused it with chili sauce. The same group traipsed to the stall. Merging with them, the father widened his lips, and then Galen’s face grooved when he saw his two daughters light the cigarettes.

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