I am prone to violent phone sex tendencies. When I was a schoolgirl, some shrink diagnosed me as clinically psychotic. My parents worried about me. I was a quiet girl. A Goth girl too. No friends but my grandpa. But I did not need any friends but him. He saw potential in me. He saw me in him. Perhaps the serial killer gene skips a generation. My youth mirrored that of the fictional character Dexter. However, I never spent time locked in a storage shed with my mother’s dead body.
My grandpa taught me how to kill. As a schoolgirl I acted impulsively. Like the time I killed my bully when she followed me home and began taunting me. To this day, she is still listed as a missing person. That’s because my grandpa covered up her death for me over 20 years ago. He carried her dead body to our farm, put her in a wood chipper and used her evil ground up bits as hog feed. I am a killer phone sex bitch because of my grandpa.
My Grandpa Turned Me Into a Stone Cold Killer
I miss him. He made me the smart killer I am today. He too learned to harness his psychotic nature. When I was little, he ran a prison, and often tortured death row inmates as a way of getting out his anger and tending to his violent needs. Eventually the state shut down his prison, and he retired. But he did not stop killing and torturing people. He helped me with my hit list. I had a long list of school bullies and teachers I wanted to hurt. And he helped me kill and torture them all.
In the process, he taught me how to kill smartly. And he shared with me key principles I carry with me today, like do not kill folks with a connection to you. Find a surrogate. Do not kill in your own back yard, which means never bring a victim back to your place or kill someone in your neighborhood. Find a place not connected to you to kill, like my kill shack in the woods.
Grandpa was my first accomplice phone sex partner. The only one worth a damn in my life. So, now, I am looking for a new hunting buddy. Some one I can mentor just like my grandpa did for me. Is that you?