An Unlikely Romance Ch. 01byLaRascasse©
This is an experimental storyline I have thought of. Please do give some feedback at the end in the form of comments and votes. They are essential to improving the story.
Here they come again. Those urges, those damn urges!!
It had barely been two weeks since the last time and already I felt like doing it again. Like a compulsive smoker who has gone a day without a smoke. I have to resist. I can't give in again.
Let me introduce myself. I am Simon Chase, ace web designer and software developer. I work freelance for many large companies. Just sitting at home, I draw over a hundred grand a year. I am living in a nice little residential complex in Queens. Just 25, I still have some of my boyish charm. I live alone in my apartment and work at a computer all day. Anyone in the complex will vouch for the friendly, endearing chap I am. But yes, I have an addiction.
After trying to resist for an hour or so, I finally decided to do it. Heaving a sigh of resignation, I put on my jacket and stepped outside. The night was chilly as I made my way to my destination.
Now, you must be wondering where I am going and what my addiction is. Drugs? No. I have never so much as smoked a joint in my life. Alcohol? No. I am not a fanatic teetotaller but I rarely drink and, that too, mostly at social events and when I have company. My addiction is more primal than that.
Driving through the still night reminded me of the last time I had indulged. The adrenalin rush, the sheer exhilaration and the feeling of ecstasy afterwards were just too good not to repeat. For the most part, she seemed to enjoy it as well. Finally, I found what I was looking for.
The street corner was filled with hookers. They were of different sizes and colours, but united in the world's oldest profession. Just what I needed. Carefully, I made my way down the alley and stopped my car. It was an accepted signal. After surveying me and my car for a few minutes, a redhead sauntered down the alley and peered in through the driver's side window. I lowered the glass and gave her my best smile.
"Looking for a date, pretty boy?"
"You got me. So how about we cut the crap and you get in."
"Straight and to the point, just the way I like it. You should know I charge more than the average whore in these parts. $400 for a round."
"I'll take it. How about we get going now?"
So I drove to the nearest seedy motel. I had done this often enough to know exactly where they are. These places exist for the sole purpose of guys like me exercising guilty pleasures. On reaching, I got out and quickly went up to the counter in front. Discreetly, I gave him a couple of notes. The signal was clear: I didn't want him to see my face. The guy accepted it gratefully. Many of the clientele were married and thus, anonymity was of prime importance. It was a common practice to bribe the guy off. Soon, a key was thrust out of the counter bottom. Room 301.
My 'date' and I made our way to our allotted room. The doors were intentionally thick to conceal the noises emanating from within. Almost every room we passed was occupied. Some were even slightly ajar giving us an unwanted view of the debauchery going on inside.
Finally, we reached 301. We entered and I locked the door behind me. She said she wanted to take a quick shower before we started. I readily agreed as I needed some time to prep as well. I was tingling with excitement at the prospect of what was about to unfold, particularly the little surprise I had for the end.
Once outside the bathroom, she seemed eager to give me a show. Seductively, she peeled off her dress inch by inch, slowly to arouse. I watched intently as she finally removed her entire top and tossed it aside. Her breasts were nice and firm, her nipples were erect. Giving a small jiggle, she followed the same routine on her skirt. I am not a man of patience, but I let her have her moment. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she was completely naked. Her pussy was shaved and smooth. On the whole, she looked pretty nice. Definitely worth the $400. She gently lay down on the bed and seductively ushered me over with her middle finger.
She lay, with her head on the pillow, as I straddled her chest and gently lowered my cock to her mouth. Instinctively, her tongue knew exactly where to go; she was very good at this. It swirled around the head of my cock and slowly worked its way up the shaft until it met my sac.
I was in dreamland as she kept repeating this movement over and over again. After a while, I got off on her face and knelt down between her legs. I knew this wasn't obligatory but I wanted to do it anyway. I started with long licks of her folds before concentrating my efforts on her clit. Several licks later, she was aroused to the level of moaning. I took this as a sign of encouragement and brought the tip of my erect member to her pussy.
In one stroke, I sank the entirety inside her. She gasped at the feeling. I recoiled and then let loose with another, hard thrust. This time her body shook with the impact. I kept up a fast tempo and soon I could feel my orgasm building. She locked her legs around my waist as I neared climax and finally shot several loads of cum inside her.
Exhausted and sweating, I got up. She was panting as well, but seemed satisfied.
"Hey, you're good at this. You may be the best client I had in a while. You look decent too. Why do you resort to hookers? I am sure New York has enough horny women who would immediately go home with you."
"I have my reasons. Now, before I pay you, there is one more thing I want to do."
"Sure, bring it on. I've seen every fetish there is."
Trust me; she probably hadn't seen this one. She was lying, curled up against the pillow as I went to the door. My jacket was hanging from a hook. I reached inside and retrieved the thing I wanted from my inner pocket. Her expression changed a bit once she saw what it was.
Monica Devereaux was in a foul mood all morning. She had once again woken up next to a random stranger in her apartment. One of these days she would need to stop going to bars and getting wasted. The guys she brought back weren't any good. Then, her breakfast was burnt and her car ran out of gas midway to the station. She was at the filling station, when she received the call and realized that her day had just taken a turn for the worse.
"Monica, come over to the Flamingo Motel on 52nd and Westbourne. We have a crime scene."
"Christ, not that fucker again."
"Unfortunately, it is the same guy."
Cursing her day even more, she keyed in her new destination in the car's GPS. Driving through the traffic would be a pain.
An hour of trading expletives with other commuters later, she drove up to the hotel. There were onlookers everywhere. The yellow tape was stretched over the entire premises. She walked in to be greeted by her effervescent partner Brian 'Boz' Bozman. He was unusually cheerful, even at crime scenes. He idolized her. After all, Monica was one of the youngest detectives in the history of the NYPD. Just 32, she was surely en route for higher posts.
Monica was an interesting woman. Her parents had desperately wanted a boy and they were not disappointed. From an early age, she was into physical activities and contact sports, often beating the guys. She was a free spirit and her indomitable will and ruthless ambition meant she climbed the police hierarchy at top speed. She commanded huge respect from all her juniors, colleagues and superiors. She was not to be trifled with, as some people found out the hard way.
One particular instance had become stuff of locker room talk in every precinct. A pimp known as Edgar Bain had been hauled in for sadistically torturing his girls. It was well known that he was a criminal, but he was well connected enough to beat the charges. His girls were too scared to testify against him. Officer Devereaux took him in her cruiser and drove him out to the city limits. There she beat him to within an inch of his life and told him that if he ever returned, she would finish the job. He took the hint and left.
There was obviously an inquiry, a hearing and a review, but she couldn't be proved of any kind of misconduct. Privately, the captain at her precinct thanked her for taking that creep off their hands.
There were several other instances of her 'slightly' overstepping her jurisdiction. Her instincts were uncannily dead-on all the time. Once she had a feeling, she would do what it took to dispense her brand of justice, even if it meant bending a few laws to prove her point.
On another note, she was the strongest willed woman on the force. Her sexual appetite was ravenous and there were several rumours of her entertaining cadets, rookies and other colleagues. She dominated over all of her conquests. Deep down within, she kept searching for that long term relationship, but was willing to sleep around in the meantime.
Boz followed her like an obedient puppy as she entered the building. He motioned her through the corridors towards room 301. He seemed happy just to be in her aura. She strode towards the door. The entire corridor was crawling with forensics and analysts desperately looking for any evidence. At last, she walked into the room.
"Exactly the same," said Boz. "He had sex with her just prior to doing this. Multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. She bled out in minutes. I sent the DNA sample from the sperm back to the lab to compare with the others, but my guess is we are looking at the same guy."
"Five victims in five months. He does not like hookers. He is brazen enough to leave his DNA right here. Like a dare- 'get me'. "
"We have already run the DNA through the database in each of the previous four occasions. Absolutely no hits. This guy is squeaky clean, a model citizen apart from this little hobby of his."
Monica glared at his little joke and inspected the room thoroughly. Her cop instinct was silent, which was a bad sign. The press had already taken hold of this story. Channel 9s Judy Lynch had already found a name for him- 'The Butcher of the Bronx', given that the first two murders took place there.
She was desperate to find this guy. Cracking a high profile case like this meant a good chance of her making Lieutenant in the coming year. She turned to the blood spatter guy who was taking measurements.
"Nathan, talk to me."
"She was running towards the door," he began. "He caught her and threw her on the ground. The scuffle marks here show a brief struggle. Eventually, he overpowered her and began stabbing. The first cut severed the carotid, and she started bleeding profusely. The big pool of blood here shows that. She's basically dead then and there but he keeps stabbing for decorative effect. Based on the angle of the first cut, I would say he is about 6 feet tall and of average build."
"So nothing new?"
Her frustration seemed to be getting the better of her. She tried her best to remain composed but failed. There had to be something she was missing. She scanned and rescanned the room, using all her police instincts, but drew a blank. It didn't help that Judy Lynch and her crew were waiting outside.
She needed something to feed them. She spotted a young forensic in the corner and she crept up behind him as he was meticulously dusting the shelf for trace evidence.
"I don't recall having seen you before. First crime scene?"
"Yeah. Aaron Lambert," he said, extending a hand. "It's an honour to finally meet you. I've heard so many stories."
"Good stories, I hope."
"Mixed. Mostly good though."
"Well, right now I am going to give you a story to tell others," she said, sliding her right hand down the inside of his pants. She was standing directly behind him, so no one spotted her groping his ass.
He stood there too stunned to react as her hand slipped inside his underwear. It was now in contact with his bare ass. Using her thumb and index finger she parted the cheeks and slid her middle digit all the way in. He gasped, unsure what else to do. She leaned over until her lips were level with his ear and whispered seductively.
"Give me something that breaks this case and I will make it worth your while, with interest."
She slid her hand out in one fluid motion and left the room nonchalantly. It took a few minutes for the entirety of what just happened to sink into Aaron's mind. Flushed with embarrassment, he resumed dusting.
The only thoughts in Monica's mind as she stepped out were for the unfortunate hookers. Driven to this destitute profession in order to survive, this asshole was picking them off one at a time. For a woman as tough as her, sympathy was often seen as a weakness, but here she was overflowing with sympathy for those unfortunate victims. Even an encounter with that bitch from Channel 9 couldn't get her any lower. She had to get him.
So cat's out of the bag I guess. You know my dirty little secret. I am a serial killer, with a taste for prostitutes. Judy has christened me- 'The Butcher of the Bronx'. I could like that name. It inspires fear and awe. Four bodies were bad enough but with the fifth today, the Commissioner had to hold a press conference. I cracked up in front of the TV as he kept mouthing the same clichés over and over.
"We will not rest until we get him."
"He is the number one priority for the police now."
"We have assigned our best officers to the case."
"Blah, blah, blah."
No seriously, it was funny.
In case you are wondering, I am not a religious head-case cleansing New York of immoral women. Neither am I a quintessential queer loner who harbours deep vengeful thoughts about women. I am a successful professional with an active social life. I volunteer a lot for the community. All my neighbours love me as the friendly young geek. On the rare occasions I hit bars, I get lucky every time. So, you see, I harbour no frustration or resentment towards women. I don't do it just for the thrill either.
So why do I do it?
In truth, I haven't been able to figure it out either. From an early age, whenever I thought of prostitutes, I rarely envisioned having sex with them. I had several graphic fantasies of killing them in different ways. I tried pushing them aside, but they kept returning. Finally one day, about five months ago, I caved in to these desires. I concealed a knife in my jackets inside pocket and went forth.
I was apprehensive, but as I surveyed the task at hand, I realized it was pretty easy. None of these discreet motels had security cameras, for the privacy of the clients. They were intentionally remote, so no witnesses, and for a few twenties I could slip through reception without the guy lifting the screen; he just slid the keys under the window. It was like a gold standard at one of the seemingly endless 'hooker motels'. Since there were many such anonymous clients, it wasn't odd in any way.
The first time was a bit sloppy but the feeling of completeness that followed was exhilarating. The sex was good too. I intentionally left my sperm, knowing full well that it couldn't be traced back to me. I had no reason to be in the criminal database.
There are times I regret it. Times I wish I could stop, but the memories of the last time ensure that I don't.
Now that it is done, I can be at ease for a few weeks at least. But then, inevitably, those urges will start again. I need something to keep them away. After a lot of brainstorming, I had an idea. I needed a serious relationship. Given how my neighbours are always trying to set me up, I would have no problem finding a date. I would have to be at my most charming to keep her.
Hey, I can act endearing when I want.
"But Monica, sweetie, just give it a try."
"Mom, I am super-busy with this case right now. I am sure you can see it all over the news. That sick freak who has been killing hookers. Besides, I don't like dates very much."
"My best friend told me about this guy who lives next door to her. He's young, handsome and has a good job. You won't find many like that."
"I told you, I can't."
"Just give it a chance. The guy has already agreed."
Heaving a sigh of resignation, she finally yielded.
"Just one date. Do you promise to stop interfering with my love life if I do that?"
Her mother was thrilled. She eagerly called up her friend to confirm. The date was set at Iridium a few days later.
After much grumbling, she finally put on her 'date dress' and went to the Iridium at the decided time. On hearing her name, the waiter ushered her to table 9. She was surprised to see someone sitting there already. Her date was here early, a good sign. She liked punctuality. She knew how this was going to probably pan out. They would eat, drink, make some small talk and then head back to one of their places for a night of hot, drunken sex. He would be gone by the end of the week, the average lifespan of her relationships.
She was pleasantly surprised when he got up and drew her chair for her before the waiter had a chance. He wasn't bad to look at. A well framed face with high cheekbones. His eyes were hazel and kept darting in different directions. His blond hair was closely cut. "On the whole, not a bad choice Mom", thought Monica.
"So, you're the woman Mrs. Freemont set me up with. I guess I owe her one."
"Am I really that good looking?"
"And more. I'm Simon Chase by the way, programming whiz."
"Monica Devereaux," she said and held out a hand.
"The cop? Really? I read about you in the papers some time back. You were involved in a shootout with a street gang. I read you shot five of them."
"Ah well, that was weeks ago. I still have a scar on my shoulder where a stray bullet hit."
She shifted the straps of her dress to show the scar. He watched on with a childlike wonder.
"Wow, I don't know what to say. That is the most beautiful part of you, it shows the mortal danger you put up with everyday, with a smile. For that, I respect you more than you'll know."
The wheels were turning furiously in her mind. This guy was a total antithesis of what she expected. He actually respected her for who she was. Putting aside her archetype of dates, she genuinely looked forward to the night.
They ordered a light meal. He told her about his work in database management and how he had recently made some breakthroughs. He then took her aback by offering to help out by converting their existing criminal database to a new and improved one built by his design. She mentioned something about cutbacks, but he waved it off and offered it for free.
"Look, you guys risk your lives out there for us. This is the least I could do."
For the first time in several years, she gave her date a real smile.
They continued chatting. The topics ranged from the Yankees to the new mayor. As time passed, she grew to accept that he might not be as bad as her mother's other date choices.
He paid for the meal, despite her protests, and escorted her out of the door. Standing on the sidewalk, this was normally the time when the guy asked her back to his place. She sighed inwardly as she remembered the worst of them: guys fumbling their words, using inane one-liners to get her in bed, or just going straight for the ass-grab. Not that she minded it, really, but she longed for a guy to have some intelligence in the way he went about. She was prepared for the worst.
"So, where do you live? I'll drop you off."
This took her by surprise to the extent she actually replied, "What? No going back to your place for a nightcap?"
He just smiled at her and said, "We barely know each other. It would be wrong to have sex now. Maybe after some more dates, when we know each other's comfort zones and are more at ease. It has to be right for both of us, or it won't be right for either."