Journals of a Psychopath.

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Another peek inside my novel.

Yvette in Careys

The Purifiers and the Darkest-One informed me to leave the sacrifice of Courtney and Yvette was the succeeding surrender. I yielded only worthwhile females, considerable energy was expended to launch and steal a life. The wish to render women in pain overshadowed my mind. My patience usually rewarded. A slim silvery-blonde-haired woman threaded into the bar and the Speaker said she was the one.
Yvette was not overweight and I did not relinquish chubby women, it was hard to slice into the blubber, slim chicks, with silvery-blonde hair, always in jeopardy, because of the appetite for the ritualistic delight. I endured the antics relating to a corpulent woman and her mouth was big, her voice boomed. I could not figure out how men could service overweight women, too much flesh was repulsive. The hunger and the adrenaline streamed through my senses. I sidled to the bar to make contact with the prey and I could see she was attracted to me. Yvette's skirt was short and showed good, legs her body willowy, her bone-structure defined, Yvette’s nose was pointed. Her mammary glands balls of sweet flesh under her sweater, I could not wait to see the flesh orbs. Scuttling outside, I smoked, Yvette browsed through the window. She came to me, when I returned.
“What are you up to?” Yvette asked.
Yvette’s saliva slid over her teeth as she talked.
“I planned to ride out.”
“Do you want some company?”
“That is a pleasant prospect.”

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