Playing Dead

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He buried Jessica White’s body in the vast open space on the west end of Stanford University.

He hadn’t meant to kill her. She’d been intoxicated, but coherent. He pretended to be tipsy, but in truth he’d replaced his beer with a nonalcoholic variety he kept in his room. He needed to be in control.

They fucked like animals and he couldn’t climax. He’d had this problem before, knew what had to be done to bring relief. She laughingly agreed to “play the game,” as she called it. But tying her to the floor spread-eagled was no game to him.

She was beautiful. Long, lean body, round tits, perky nipples, dark hair spilling around her.

So he had closed his eyes, wanting to remember the woman who had loved him, who had taught him everything about sex.

Bridget had seduced him when he was twelve. Told him what to do, what she liked, made him do things he didn’t want to. But he’d loved her. Loved her breasts. If she’d just let him suck her breasts, he would have been happy.

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