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Confession of an Old Necrophile:
Prey For My Soul
By: blue.beard


I thought I would share some of my past adventures with you. Now that I’m almost retired, you’ll probably blow these off as the stories of a dirty old man. Maybe they are... Lisa came into my life in my middle twenties. I was living in New Orleans at the time, and had already worked out some of my techniques. Onward with the tale:
The first thing that impresses you is the noise and the swirling crowds almost like a moving kaleidoscope as you are walking town the street. There are people everywhere, there is music coming out of the doorways. Each doorway has a different tune, each doorway at full volume. The people on the street are shouting and dancing, some of them are drunk, some of them are staggering around not knowing what to do. Policemen are standing there watching or walking the street ready for any trouble.
As I strolled, I was wondering for the umpteenth time that night, why I decided to come back. It had been years since I had been on Bourbon St. during Mardi Gras weekend. But it brought back memories: the smell of bodies, both washed and unwashed, going by, the sight of pretty girls--and pretty boys-- too, if you wanted to look at them that way; the smell of stale beer overwhelming everything. Everybody seemed to be having a good time. I was enjoying myself, not really doing much of anything except watching, trying to figure out why people believed that getting drunk in a mob scene was supposed to be so great.
I looked up at a balcony trying to see what the hell was going on, when I got bumped so hard that I fell flat on my ass. I looked ‘round to find a young girl knocked over also. We stared at each other for a second, dumfounded, and then I realized that I didn’t want to make a scene. In that crowd, any kind of scene could get dangerous, even the good ones. I stood and helped her up. I moved us against a wall, away from the surge of the crowd. She was a short thing, maybe five feet, weighing about 90 pounds, curly dark hair, and big beautiful eyes. I said "Are you O.K.?"
"I think I am." She checked her backpack, "I was looking around, and I didn’t see you. I’m very sorry."
"No problem," I said, "are you going anywhere in a hurry?"
"No, I was just sightseeing."
"Let me get you a cup of coffee, we can unwind and see what’s going on." I offered her my hand and she accepted it.
We took to the side streets, working our way toward the river and a little Chinese restaurant I knew, where we ordered coffee. I studied her, nineteen, maybe, and ragged.
"Hungry?" She nodded gratefully. I ordered mandarin duck and subgum fried rice.
She began to relax. "I’m George," I offered.
"Lisa, " she said it half defiantly, half in confession, then, as if in apology, "I just got in today."
"Where are you from?"
"New York City," her accent did not match this.
We talked for a while, and she told me that she had just graduated high school last year, and came down on the spur of the moment when she heard that Mardi Gras was this week. She did not have any friends in town, had no place to stay, and had little money. I asked her if she wanted to stay at my place, and she agreed.
"But," I said, "there’s one thing that has to be settled first. I don’t really care who you are, or where you’re going, I’m not about to turn you in or anything, but why are you lying to me?"
"What are you talking about?"
"First, you aren’t from New York, I lived there for five years, and your accent doesn’t match. Second, you look to be very young. Third, you are a very bright girl, and, I believe, basically honest. You don’t like to lie. I think that you’re running from something."
"How can I trust you?"
"You want references? If you don’t trust me, you can leave, though I would like for you to stay. I like you, and would enjoy knowing you better. But, a friendship cannot be built on lies."
She asked me for a cigarette. Her hands were shaking when I lit it for her. She slumped down in the booth. "You won’t turn me in?"
"Lisa, you’re intelligent, and pretty mature. I won’t turn you in unless you’re ripping off someone, or harming them against their will."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Just what I said. I like you, and won’t do anything to you against your will, but I do not like being lied to." She flicked the ash off her cigarette, and slumped back, rubbing the fresh scars on her wrist.
"You ran away from a hospital."
She looked at me, "How did you know that?"
"I’ve had some experience with mental hospitals, my ex-wife was in and out of them. Those scars on your wrist are no more that two months old."
She looked at me, and her eyes were heavy with tears. "You’re right, please don’t call anybody."
"I couldn’t even if I wanted to, I don’t know where to call. I wouldn’t wish the police on anybody, unless they deserved it. I do not believe in ‘protecting’ people against their will. I do believe in helping people work out their own solutions. I would really like to help you, if you’ll let me."
"I’m eighteen, but my name is Lisa."
"Lisa, thank you for your trust, but this is not the place to discuss this. Why don’t we finish dinner, relax, and talk about it later, if you want."
Dinner arrived about then, and we talked some more, getting acquainted. It turned out that she was into jazz and country music, played the guitar, and her favorite poet was Sylvia Plath.
After dinner, I suggested that we take her back pack home and come back later. She agreed to this. On the way to the car, she held on to my hand, but was quiet. I let her be.
When we were driving home, she tucked her legs under her and turned to looked at me. I kept quiet and drove.
"You’re right, I did run away from a mental hospital. I attempted suicide, and the shrinks were fucking with my mind. I couldn’t stand it any longer, and ran away."
"Are you still suicidal?"
"Yes"
"I have three rules in my house. No ripping off, no loud noises, and no suicides without the landlord’s permission. Fair enough?"
She laughed, "Yes."
About that time, we arrived at the house. After showing her the facilities, and explaining that she had a choice between sleeping in my bed or the mattress in the study, I asked her if she wanted to go back downtown or stay home and watch a movie. She agreed that she had seen enough of the crap downtown.
I selected a movie about teenage suicide on the VCR, and we settled down on the couch to watch. During the movie, she burrowed into my armpit, but put her full attention to the movie. At the halfway point, after the kids killed themselves, she sat up and asked me to stop the movie.
She asked me for a cigarette, and as she lit it, a tear fell on her hand. "Why did you choose this movie? Are you trying to fuck with me?"
"Just a little bit, suicide is something that has interested me for years." I showed her the scars on my wrists. "I first attempted suicide when I was twelve years old. I actually enjoy this movie, and find it highly arousing. I thought you would also enjoy it. It seems to be a topic you are very interested in."
She said, "I am, but it does upset me at the moment."
"Why is that?...Are you suicidal now?"
"Yes"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am."
"What’s stopping you? You’ve run away from the hospital, you are out free, why haven’t you done it?"
"I’m scared, and I don’t want to fuck it up and hurt myself."
I sat back and lit up a cigarette. "I have one more question, why are you so upset?"
"I don’t know, you are getting me all worked up, and I don’t know why. You’ve already told me I can’t do it here."
"No, what I said was that suicide was a no-no without the landlord’s permission."
"You mean I can?"
"I didn’t say that, definitely not if you are this upset. Death is a stage we all must pass through. Some do it sooner than others, and some never accept it, but still, eventually die.
"It’s normal to be nervous when taking such a big step. But, it’s not right to be upset. If you are volunteering to commit suicide, you should be at least content and sure of your choice.
"I want you to do a little exercise for me. I would like you to take a pencil and make two lists for yourself: one, a list of the advantages of living; and two, a list of the advantages of dying. I’ll leave you alone for a while, and we’ll discuss them later."
I got up and gave her a pencil and notebook. She asked me for another cigarette, and sat back on the sofa with the notebook in her lap.
"I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back in about 20 minutes. If you need anything, just help yourself."
When I got out of the shower, I put on an old pair of hospital scrubs, and went out to the living room. She was sitting in the chair looking over the list she had made. She looked up when I came in, licked her lips, and handed me the list with a slightly shaking hand.
"Let’s see," I said, taking the list and sitting on the sofa.
"Under the advantages of living, you have sex, good food, the possibilities of good friends and good books. Is there anything else you want to add?"
She raised her eyes to me, "No, but what about the other list?" she sat up straight.
"Under the advantages of dying, the list is a lot longer," I settled back and lifted the page. "Never getting sick, never having to work, not worrying where the next meal comes from, not having to wash clothes, not having to worry about what to wear, never being embarrassed, never worrying about being pregnant, not worrying about aids or v.d., not having to brush your teeth or worry about body odor, not having periods," I looked over to her, "All these things may be true, but they’re all negatives. Can’t you think of one positive advantage of dying?"
"You’re fucking with me just like my shrink, why can’t you just listen to me?"
"Hey, hold on, all I’m trying to do is to get you to think straight. Dying should be a positive act, not an escape. Suicide should, if at all possible, be joyous. Come on, try to think of some positive reasons."
She uncrossed her legs, sat up and looked at the floor for several minutes. I lit a cigarette, and looked at her. She looked at me, "How about perfect relaxation, freedom from worry, and freedom from responsibility?", she was wiping her hands on her jeans. "No, there is no positive, death is the perfect negation."
"What’s the matter, you seem nervous about something?"
"This whole conversation, I don’t know what you’re trying to do."
I stood up, "Come here," she came over to me. "Give me a hug." She hugged me and laid her head on my chest.
"I’m sorry, it’s just that I don’t know what you are trying to do."
"Sit down next to me, and I’ll try to explain," after we sat on the sofa, I put my arm around her. She squirmed around a bit and finally ended up lying with her head in my lap.
"You told me that you were in the mental hospital because you tried to commit suicide. What I want to know is how you felt after you decided to die. Were you happy or sad? And after you failed in your attempt, were you relieved or disappointed?"
"It’s funny you should ask that, when I decided to do it, I felt free. I watched what was going on around me and saw how shallow everything was. People were getting upset over the simplest things that didn’t really matter. I was happy for the first time in my life." She took hold of my hand. "When they put me in the hospital, my shrink said I was depressed. Of course I was depressed, I had blown the whole thing, and all those people were trying to get me hung up in all this bullshit they think is life." Her grip tightened on my hand. "I had to leave."
I caressed her hair with my free hand as I looked down at her. "Now we’re getting to the point of this whole conversation." I said. "Do you really want to die?"
She looked up at me, "Yes."
I gazed at her for a moment, holding her hand, I said, "Do you want to die tonight?"
She sat up on the sofa, and turned to me, "What?"
"You heard me, do you want to die tonight?"
"Are you serious?"
I replied, "Yes, if you’ll allow me, I’ll be glad to help you."
"You’re serious!"
"Yes, of course I’m serious."
She stared at me for a moment with widened eyes. "I believe you are...What if I said no?"
"No problem, you spend the night here. If you want spend another night here, no problem. When you’re ready to leave, you leave."
"And if I said yes?"
"No problem, tonight you’ll die."
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn’t make the offer if I wasn’t sure."
"But...what would you do with my body?"
"You don’t have to worry about that. You won’t be here to worry about that. I can say for sure that I will not be sending it back to your family."
"But what are you going to do?"
"People outside this room might think that I am somewhat strange, but you know and I know that I really am trying to help you." I turned toward her and took her hand again. "Let me explain the ground rules, you told me that you wanted to die, this happens to fit some of my own fantasies. So, I’m giving you the choice and the opportunity to fulfill some of yours. If you do choose to die, it will not be painful, unless that is what you want. We will discuss what you want, and I will try my best to do exactly that. If you choose not to die, then I would like to be your friend. If living is your choice, I think you should then reexamine your aims. It’s possible that you are not really suicidal." I leaned back and put free hand on the back of the sofa. "If you say yes, you will most likely die on the bed. You can back out any time until you lay down. Once your back touches the bed, your decision will be irrevocable."
She drew both legs onto the sofa, and turned to me, "You are serious."
"I am."
"Why me?"
"For two very good reasons. One, you expressed a desire for this, and two, there is no way anyone can trace you to me."
"You really want me to decide now?"
"If you’ve been telling me the truth, tonight, you have already made your decision, and only need the courage to admit it."
"If I say no tonight, can I change my mind later?"
"I think you’re just waffling around, afraid to make a decision. You can’t change your mind after we’re seen together, unless I decide to die, and you agree to join me."
"How would I die?"
"We can discuss that after you make your decision. There is one other thing that I should mention. After your decision is made, you must do everything I tell you in order for it to succeed."
She came over, nestled into my armpit, and placed her hand on my chest. My heart was beating as fast as hers. "I guess I made my decision when I came home with you. Yes, let’s do it."
"Thank you," I nuzzled her hair with my chin. "The first thing you must do is take off your shoes."
"My shoes?"
"I said you would have to obey me. Taking off your shoes shows a willingness to do this, it is also symbolic in that you will never need to wear shoes again. Give your feet a last chance to feel the textures they were designed to feel."
She reached behind her and pulled off her shoes. "How am I going to die?"
"Not so fast, first another decision, all this talking has made me thirsty, do you want something hot or cold?" We got up and walked to the kitchen. "Personally, I want a cup of coffee." I said as I fiddled with the stove. "Do you want something to eat? I have some cookies in the refrigerator, or steaks in the freezer."
"No thanks, I’ll just have some coffee. Where do you keep the cups?" She started opening the cupboards.
"Up top, right of the sink."
After she set the table, we sat down to wait for the coffee to brew. I lit a cigarette. "Tell me about your fantasies."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you ever masturbate?"
"Oh, yeah. Sometimes I pretend that I’ve taken sleeping pills, and will go unconscious when I come. Sometimes, I pretend that I’m tied to a bed, and some man makes love to me and kills me when I come."
"How does he kill you?"
She lit up a cigarette, "I don’t know, sometimes he chokes me, sometimes he stabs me, and sometimes, he shoots me."
I said, "Well, I don’t have sleeping pills, but I do have cyanide. I also have rope, knives and guns, but I’m afraid I’ll have to veto the gun, because it’s too noisy."
She took a sip of her coffee, put down the cup, and took my hand. "Which do you think is best?"
"Let’s go down the list, remember, it’s your decision. Cyanide is very quick, and if you take the right dose, there is very little pain. You go out like a light. A knife can be quick, but there will be some pain. It can also be very messy. Cutting the throat sprays all over the room, but cutting the wrists or a stab to the heard could be done neatly."
"I’ve tried cutting my wrist, and it hurts like hell."
"Agreed. Choking is not necessarily painful, but it can get uncomfortable. It takes about a minute before you lose consciousness. However, it is said that it gives a tremendous boost to an orgasm."
She released my hand, sat back in her chair, and took another sip of coffee. "You are serious about this?"
"Yes."
"Then please forgive me, but I don’t want to be tied down. I think I would like the cyanide."
"No problem, but I do have to be with you."
"OK...What do we do now?"
"That’s up to you. Is there anything else you want to do? We have plenty of time. Do you want a last meal?"
"No," she smiled, "let’s get started."
"Fine," I got up and got her a small pill. "Take this."
She looked at the pill in her hand. "Is this it?"
"No, it’s just a little morphine I’ve been saving. It’ll help kill any pain, and also make you feel good."
She took the pill with the last of her coffee. I poured myself another cup, and stood up. She got up with me. I gave her another hug, she hung on tightly.
"Let’s go into the bedroom." I took her hand, it was trembling slightly. When we got to the bedroom, I gave her a towel and one of my white shirts.
"Please go take a bath or shower, do whatever you need to in there. Remember, however you look when you come out is the best you will ever be. This is an important step for you. While bathing, think of the water rinsing away any bad feelings you have. Rinse out your mind too."
While she was showering, I mixed the cyanide with a little almond flavor and some sugar. I also made up the bed with silk sheets, and placed a waterproof pad where her hips would be. I placed a pillow lengthwise on the bed.
She came out of the bathroom with the shirt on and the sleeves rolled up. She came to me, hugged me and put her head on my chest. I hugged her back and she looked up at me and smiled.
"How am I doing?"
"Just fine," I stepped back, got a black silk tie and knotted it loosely around her neck.
"What’s this for?" she asked.
"Remember, I said that once you get on the bed, you can’t change your mind. If you don’t drink the cyanide, you will die by the tie."
"Well, " she said, "tie dies are in fashion." She put her hands on my arm as I tightened the knot. "Don’t worry, I’m positive." I kissed her on the nose, and she sat down on the bed.
"Just a minute," I said. I unbuttoned the shirt, and she shrugged out of it.
"What now?" she said.
"Do you want to make love one last time?"
She looked up at me, "I just want to go, but if you think we have to..."
"Only if you want, this is your time."
"What do I do?"
I handed her a plastic tube I had stuck in the glass. "When you’re ready, drink this. Take at least four big swallows. The more you drink, the faster it is, and the less pain. Now, lay down on your stomach on top of the pillow, and I’ll give you a back rub to relax you."
She lay down on the pillow, and brought the tube up and looked at it with some fascination. I took up a handful of some massage oil I had heated up in the microwave, and applied it to her back. It was fine, her ribs were showing, but not enough to be emaciated. As I massaged her neck and shoulders, I could feel her relaxing. She wriggled around a bit getting comfortable. I continued the back rub, concentrating on her spinal muscles when she murmured something. I asked her what she had said.
"Thank you for everything."
"I thank you for the opportunity."
After I finished with her back, I started on her legs. I picked up each foot, and worked on each toe, and gently rubbed the soles of her feet. I worked up the calves of each leg. Her legs were perfect, with small feet with dainty arches. As I reached her thighs, I felt her give a slight shudder and then lie still. I looked up at her and she had dropped the tube. I noticed that she was not breathing. The glass that held the cyanide was almost empty. I checked her pulse, it was not there.
I straightened up. "Good-bye Lisa. I hope you’re now happy."
I put the tube and glass away. I then took a spray bottle and dish and rinsed out her mouth to remove any traces of the cyanide. I lifted up the ends of the pillow and turned her over on her back.
Taking off my clothes, I lay down next to her. I took off the tie, and started caressing her body, she was still warm, indeed, she was a little hot. Her breasts were small but firm, and her body completely relaxed. I ran my hands over her smooth belly and then down the soft inside of her thighs. When I spread her legs, I could smell her perfume. Her vagina was wet when I touched her, I smiled at a job done well.
I climbed on top of her, and wrapped her legs around mine. After I entered her, I lifted her head, her mouth opened for me. I sucked her tongue into my mouth as I started moving. As my movements increased, and her body moved with mine, I reached up and touched her open eyes. There was no response. I closed them so that they would last longer. As I came, I clamped my teeth on her neck. She remained completely relaxed.
By keeping the air conditioner at max., I was able to keep her with me for about three days. After that, I had to bury her in the back yard, where she fertilized my fig tree.
* * *
2 comments

anonymous readerReport

2011-12-10 22:22:18
Always the best content from these prodigious wiretrs.

anonymous readerReport

2011-11-19 23:10:37
Good story don't misunderstand my little criticism but the effects of cyanide on the human body when ingested (no matter the quantity) is not a calm, peaceful death.

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