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He thought Friday the 13th was his lucky day.

Picked the girl up at that club he’d talked his way into before with a useful fake id.   Watched her dance, bought her a drink, yelled the old ‘get out of here?’ cliche over the excited pulse of the music.   She said yes.   Too easy.

He totally thought he was getting lucky tonight.   In his own special way, of course.

So they’re walking across the park, and he’s thinking furiously.   Hadn’t really planned this one properly, you see.   The apartment was a bloody mess (so to speak) – not that it would matter for long if his scheme worked out, but first impressions you know…   Plus if things got noisy, those walls really were fucking thin.   And then – it would be swift and satisfying, but what to do with her later?   No, no – far better to try his luck now.

The shadows under the tree were long and dark, and she was giggling and pulling at his shirt.   She smelt delicious – he could feel the beat of her heart under his hands, feel the warm pliant flesh under his lips, his hunger and predatory desire  for her making his own blood race…

And that’s when Jonathon8 came quietly around the tree and ripped both their throats out.

Guess 13 wasn’t that guy’s lucky number after all.





  1. “Pop! Goes the Weasel”

  2. LOL.. That is fucking cool..

  3. I do so appreciate your candor about your necessary “predatory” lifestyle, and I adore that you can remind me that we are all predators, in our own way. ‘Tis so very true, humanity at large would like to pretend otherwise, but we all want what we want, when we want it. Consequences be damned, yes?

  4. Sounds like it was fairly productive for you though…right 8!

  5. I am delighted by the implied comparison to the life of a vampire in the life of a sex predator.

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