I've always found true intimacy to be fleeting. You spend weeks, sometimes even months, working to nurture that special
relationship. You spend the time to discover everything there is to know about that special woman in your life. You come
to cherish her passions and share all the little things that make her laugh. Eventually you come to know every facet of
her life, perhaps even to know her better then she knows herself. And then suddenly, the two of you share that fleetingly
brief moment of true intimacy and it's gone forever.
Take Christine for instance. It was just another typical Sunday afternoon when I first laid eyes upon her. I was relaxing with a freshly brewed latté at this little gourmet coffee shop on Rodeo Drive when I noticed a bright red, outrageously expensive, Italian sports car pull up in from of the trendy clothing boutique across the street. The driver, who was obviously a valet, parked the car and quickly entered the boutique. A few moments later I watched this lovely young woman come out of the boutique followed by the valet carrying several large shopping bags. I sipped my latté as I watched the valet carefully loading the bulging shopping bags into the tiny trunk of the woman's sport's car.
I'm not sure who was taken more by surprise when she turned to hand the valet his tip and instead of just handing him the bills, the young woman stretched up onto her toes to kiss him on the cheek as she pressed the cash into his hands. I'm still not sure what made the valet smile the most, an unexpected kiss from a beautiful young woman or the fact she'd given him a five hundred dollar tip. Anyway, I used the camera in my cell phone to snap a picture of the young woman's license plate as she pulled her expensive red sport's car back out into the traffic and drove away.
Over the following weeks I came to know this lovely young woman named Christine. A quick hack into the California department of motor vehicles and I had Christine's name and address. Unseen, I followed her for weeks, discovering who she truly was, learning every detail of her habits, her daily routine, her life.
Christine turned out to be a truly a magnificent young lady. Originally from a small farming community in Kansas, Christine graduated from Harvard and ran one of Hollywood's most prestigious advertizing agencies. And while she always seemed to be at all the right Hollywood parties, typically she'd be home, alone in bed, before midnight. Her only vice seemed to be an almost unquenchable thirst for the latest fashion. Some people go to church every Sunday morning, not Christine, every Sunday morning she went shopping.
I've always believed in picking that perfect moment to introduce myself, in waiting until the timing is perfection. And thanks to a tiny video surveillance camera I placed in the bushes outside her townhouse in the North Hollywood hills, when that perfect moment finally arrived, I already knew Christine's alarm code.
That fateful Sunday morning, I waited until she'd left to go shopping before I picked the lock on Christine's front door. Closing and relocking the door behind me I disarmed the house alarm and then rearmed it in "at home" mode. Experience has taught me that women never seem to notice the mode their house alarm is in while their focused on turning it off. A quick search to insure there would be no unexpected surprises and I hid in one of the guest rooms to await Christine's return from her weekly shopping trip.
The quiet was broken by the distinctive sound the key turning in the lock, the chirping of the house alarm n the brief moments before she disarmed the system, the sharp click of her heels on the foyer's hardwood floor, the rustle of the shopping bags as Christine made her way up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom.
Leaving the concealment of the guest room I crept silently down the hall toward Christine. Pausing against the wall directly outside the open doorway of Christine's bedroom I could hear Christine removing her dress. Knowing Christine's habits better then I could ever know my own I waited patiently until she hung up her dress and walked out of the closet before I moved.
To this day I still don't have a clue about what cause Christine to turn, perhaps somehow she sensed my approach but that look of abject fear in her lovely eyes as I quickly closed the distance between us was beyond intoxicating. I could see in her eyes that eternally feminine fear of sexual assault but her considerable fears where unfounded, raped had never been my intent. The scream was still forming somewhere deep within Christine's lovely throat when I stabbed the knife deep into her belly.
Christine's lovely blue eyes opened wide as her mouth opened in a soundless unspeakable scream of overwhelming pain. It's interesting to note that for some biologically obscure reason the human liver has the highest number of nerve endings in the human body. Maybe that was why one of the Spanish Inquisition's favorite methods for extracting a confession from the unwilling was to slowly insert sharp skewers into the godless heretic's upper abdomen until they confessed.
So there we stood in that all to brief and timeless moment of true intimacy, our eyes looked inescapably upon each others. Beyond the exquisite look of pure unadulterated agony I could see in her lovely blue eyes I could sense that eternal question Christine longed to ask if only she could make her lungs obey her commands.
Knowing the moment had finally at long last arrived, I stepped closer to Christine. I was finally close enough to smell the sweetness of her breath, the subtle erotic undertones of her expensive perfume. Smiling, I grasped the handle of the knife with both hands and brutally stabbed its blade upward through Christine's beautiful young body, the razor sharp blade sliding effortlessly upward through Christine's diaphragm and entering the lower part of her left lung.
Christine instinctively rose up onto her toes in a futile attempt to escape my knife but even as she did I could see the terrifying realization in her eyes, the utter certainty that escape was impossible. It was in those final brief seconds of her life that I think Christine finally understood the totality of our all to brief shared intimacy.
Despite the unimaginable pain, Christine still managed to bring her hands up and rested them upon my shoulders. I think if it had been possible she'd have leaned forward to kiss me in those final terrifying seconds of her life.
Of course, I didn't let her. I mean, why I would I let some shameless little whore kiss my lips, only the devil Satan knows how many cocks this shameless little harlot has wrapped her painted lips around before I found her. Instead, I used the knife to lift her higher, until her toes no longer reached the floor. Only then, when I was sure Christine knew escape was completely impossible I twisted the blade deep within her body, savagely ripping her guts apart.
Lowering Christine's toes back to the floor, I twisted the blade one final time in her already mutilated guts and stepped back as the expected explosion of blood and gore erupted from the obscenely ugly wound in her belly. Deprived of the agonizing support provided by the blade of my knife, Christine slowly collapsed to her knees before me.
Horrified by the obscene magnitude of what was happening to her, Christine found herself staring upward into the cold eyes of her killer, still unable to speak and desperate to ask that question that all woman inevitably ask in the end.
Seeing the questioning look in Christine's lovely blue eyes, her killer paused for the briefest of moments before replying, "Why? Because I can," but before he could complete his reply he realized he was already talking to a corpse.
Anyway, I already have my eye on a redheaded flight attendant, long legs, slender waist…