There was someone close to me with me.
The serial killer called the hotel his “shop.”
I was in profound terror.
First he tried to arouse me. He rubbed his penis against my ass finally, and I felt it, and I said, “Oh no you don’t I felt that,” and pulled away. Unfortunately it felt good. The person with me had a talk with him, as I remember, and then went away. He ordered a car to take me to the hotel, I can’t remember the name, but he said it.
I lay for at least an hour, not knowing what to expect, begging for sex. But he didn’t know it. Because I’m cold. Saved my life. He was very physically attractive and had a compelling face. “Charming,” like most of his kind (when he wanted to be.)
Some time, I brushed my head along his shoulder coyly. I didn’t know why.
Then I waited, wanting sex, knowing what would follow but not going there. (I haven’t had sex at all for about 4 years now. And quitting masturbating left me entirely cold. That used to give me enough heat to attract my ex.
Finally he said he liked me and couldn’t do it. He told […] that there was no way to take me, everything on me was so screwed up. And that was how he did it, he got them aroused and took them first. It was left in come uncertainty. I finally clambered out of bed and went to the futon in the living room. There was a dank odor in the bedroom when I went back. Tonight I opened the windows, and changed the sheets, and cleaned up generally from my illness. When I stripped the mattress pad off the bed (I had been sleeping on it), I smelt a profound odor of fear, I can’t describe it. So I aired everything. Now I still can’t sleep on it.