To whom it may concern,
I've decided that I can't live with what I've done. You'll soon understand why:
I saw Annie Genson leave the bar at around two o'clock, like she always does on Saturday nights. I don't know how much I had to drink that night, but it was enough to make me believe that I had to have her, no matter what.
So I followed her for a few blocks until we were in a deserted area. I pulled my gun on her and told her not to make a sound. She was terrified. I led her to my van nearby and we went in through the back.
I told her to undress. She did, with tears running down her face. When she was naked I stared at her for a while, momentarily frozen by her perfection. She kept trying to cover herself up but she wisely forced herself to cooperate.
I straddled her stomach, pinning her arms down, and did nothing but fondle her breasts for what seemed like an hour.
I then took off my pants and underwear and told her to suck my dick, and that she better not try anything funny if she knew what's good for her. She did well to meet my demands.
With my penis lubed up, I forced her legs wide open and continued to pin her down. I pushed into her, despite her shrieks of horror. I fucked her slowly, pausing for several seconds when all the way inside her. After what seemed like two hours, I finally shot off deep within her. She must've been in shock; all she could do was stare at me.
I opened the doors, pushed her out, and drove off with all of her clothes still in the van.
That was two nights ago. Ever since I sobered up I've been ready to kill myself, I just couldn't decide how I was going to do it. Pills seemed like the best way, so that's what I'll do now. I should be dead in about half an hour.
