It really is true that you can't be too careful. Everyone learns that lesson sooner or later but usually not before they have badly misplaced their trust, especially in me. Who I am doesn't matter, I have several aliases. I'm not a hood, I offer services. It was in that capacity that I first met Denise. It was on one of those websites and chat rooms for wayward wives. Denise (her real name by the way) and I started chatting. When ladies tell me their tales of woe I become the most sympathetic set of ears on the planet. Denise was twenty two and had one kid, a mortgage, a van, and a much older husband who could not always get it up and didn't believe in Viagra. Our chats soon moved off line to telephone texts and conversations when hubby was asleep or at a deacon's meeting. My phone was an untraceable disposable and my phony accent was straight out of the Virginia foothills. .
Denise had married young to escape her religiously strict parents to a man selected by her church's pastor. He owned a fairly pedestrian personality, and was no great shakes in the looks department. Unfortunately, her marriage turned out to be nearly as confining as her childhood had been He selected her wardrobe, he controlled her socializing, she took the job he had selected for her. Denise loved her kid but was stifled on every other corner of her life. What she wanted more than anything was a good dicking by a man who wasn't her husband just to feel desired and alive again. Here's where it gets weird.
Denise was paranoid that if she were to have an affair, it would be found out and would ruin her life. For Denise to get away with any extracurricular activity, it had to appear as though she was taken against her will by some anonymous bruiser who had overpowered her and threatened her life. Anything less than that and her asshole husband and like minded church would have accused her of being a "slut" and a "fallen woman." Even if she were taken anonymously, many of those same folks would accuse of somehow having "lead him on" and "enticed" him. We are not dealing with progressive people here. In all honesty and far more sensitivity than a man of my sort is apt to feel I suggested she get in order, an attorney, a retraining order, a divorce, and a bus ticket out of town.
Denise cried. "My entire family is in that church. If I divorce Darnell, Mama and Daddy will never talk to me again. All of my friends are there and my church would use all of its money to hire lawyers and take Becky away from me." This was followed by a flow of tears and sobs. Ordinarily I would have ended things there, but Denise sent me her a head shot and eventually a description. Five foot three, stacked, alabaster skin, crimson hair, china doll face, way too pretty to have problems like this. I listened long enough for my sympathy to fade. None of her problems, even taken together, were insurmountable. Denise had allowed everyone around her to make decisions about her life to the point that now she was seeing boogie men that weren't there.
A decent human being, a gentleman, would have told her to call a woman's shelter. A truly sensitive man would have encouraged her to begin by stepping out in small ways, building her courage and independence. A friend would have helped her re-ignite the inner fire she had so long suppressed. Those are things a decent person would have done. It was Denise's misfortune to find instead a cad.
I t wasn't hard to imagine Denise naked, being compelled to do all manner of foul things. The kind of things a young Christian wife should never even know about, much less enjoy. Yes enjoy, I knew that, at heart, Denise was one twisted woman looking for an excuse to get her freak on, while still never having to remove the mask of concerned, loving, and oh so submissive, wife and mother. She DESERVED what I was going to do to her!
Our conversations became much more interesting when I volunteered to help her out with her "problem". While Denise was filling her mind with me spiriting her off to some deserted cabin for the weekend where I "forced" her to undress and service me, a tall dark stranger, before she stumbled off to the nearby town in tattered clothes and a convincing story that would inspire sympathy and a touch of admiration from her husband, family, and church. I was planning on giving her exactly what she asked for!
It helps, of course, that I am an excellent actor. In an earlier life I had even won some VERY minor parts in a handful of off-Broadway productions. I was convincing in thankless roles, somewhere in one of my scrapbooks is a one sentence mention of one of my appearances in a review by the "Post's" drama critic. I probably could have gone on to bigger and better things but I simply did not want to invest the amount of time it would have taken, nor did I like the prospect of the poverty I would have to endure before I made it to the top.
I used my acting skills to play cons on the public. I earned far more money as a blind beggar, a deaf solicitor, and a shell shocked veteran than I ever did playing minor assassins on stage. It was easy money practically thrown at me. I moved from that to doing what I was born to do, sweet talking ladies into transferring their surplus wealth into my wallet. It helps that I'm handsome, but not in a distracting way, tall and well mannered. I became "projects" for grieving, yet quite wealthy young widows. Sometimes the women were older but just as trusting. I can dazzle when I want to. Not one of those ladies ever regretted the funds they entrusted to me. There was always some reason or another, all seemingly quite legitimate, that necessitated an end to our relationship. Oh, the tear-stained letters I have inspired! All of those women left a lasting impression on my soul (IF that is the word) and an even greater one on my bottom line. Stocks and bearer bonds make the ideal parting gift. So now, I freelance, moving from relationship to relationship whenever I find them interesting. The internet opened many, many doors for me. I am a careful cad however, juggling my aliases to obscure the real me. NOBODY meets him but me! The one thing I did lack in most of my relationships was the freedom to engage in my darker side. Oh, Upper West Side trust fund babes can get mighty kinky, but at the end of the day, they know it is me and I know it is me, I've always wanted to be, in reality, the fantasy role I slid on, to be a truly ruthless as I desired; to let Mr. Hyde gallivant around town at least once. Denise would allow me that privilege. .
Denise saw me as a night on white horse. She was so sure I was a 'blessing" and a "kind and loving" man. I did nothing to dissuade her of those notions as I spun a tale of a simple country boy who had always been unlucky in love. Denise's tears when I stammered through an account of how my fiancee had been killed by a drunk driver in his semi while on the way to our engagement party, made me feel like I had won a Tony Award. Some men play the bass, others the harpsichord, I play heartstrings. In no time Denise had sent me every detail of her life from her work schedule to the route she took home. I sent her a picture and told her it was me. Because she was curious I also sent the photo of a fit torso with nice abs and mischievous little tattoo and some cock I found on the internet. It wasn't ALL lies. I'm in pretty good shape, not cut like my doppelganger but not bad. I'm also well hung but not quite like the dick I sent Denise. The face looks nothing like me aside from the fact we are about the same age and share the same eye color, but Denise had constructed such a fantasy about me and our "fated" encounter that she never asked any of the questions a normal person would. You know, if I had a conscience, I'd actually feel guilty about what I do, but guilt is for suckers!
I do have a home base but, I can relocate as needed rather easily. Blending in wherever I am is no problem. I've always been outstanding at accents, Whether I enter a room full of Arkansas good ol' boys or Harvard aesthetes, I leave with all convinced that I'm one of them. I had a magician for a roommate once, I still remember his words "People WANT to be conned. They want to see only what you want them to to see. It doesn't matter if its three card Monte or their investments on Wall Street, a deluded person is a happy person." Vince doesn't know it but he gave me the guiding philosophy of my life. My legerdemain doesn't involve any mirrors or props aside from human nature, but over the years, I've made a lot more money and had more fun than he ever did, even with his Vegas shows.
Denise was expecting me the second week of June. I planned to strike a week early. I had been in her town for a fortnight already. Everything was prepared.. I performed an unobtrusive trail run. With the same vigor I once put into memorizing dialog and blocking I replayed my angle of attack and, if necessary, escape routes over and over again. No bad guy should ever have to rely on a GPS. Like a private eye I shadowed Denise for a few days. In person she was every bit as pretty as her picture. I had to stifle a laugh at her wardrobe. Long dark skirts and high collared, voluminous blouses that did nothing to accentuate her figure. The one frustration in this venture so far had been Denise's reticence to send me any pictures of her that were in any way revealing. Despite my most sincere entreaties all Denise would say is, "I have a spectacular body, that is why Darnell makes me hide it all the time. To tell you anymore would spoil the surprise."
On seeing her in person, I realized that her face was so cute that even if her clothing concealed a water buffalo, this venture would still be worth my time. However, I doubted that there was an ounce of fat under that attire. From what Denise had told me about her husband, he was the sort of man who feared his wife's beauty rather than, like a normal husband, reveled in it. I've met sad characters like Darnell before, so insecure that if a total stranger were to ogle his wife's ass as they strode by, Darnell would conclude that the stranger had a better cock and knew how to really use it. For the rest of the day, his mind would be assailed by images of the stranger doing all sorts of things with Denise right in front of him while they both laughed. Why is it that the limpest dicks always seem to end up with the hottest women?. For a lingering second, I envisioned fulfilling Denise's cabin escapade. That would, however, needlessly complicate things, I'd have to reveal too much about myself and when the guilt hit her she would confess all and throw herself on the mercy of her church and send the cops after me. No, my plan was simpler, and in the long run, better for all concerned.
Tiny people should never drive big honking vans. I struck as she was leaving work. Because of the nature of the parking spaces in front of her office, Denise has to approach her vehicle from the passenger side and is for a few seconds completely out of view of anyone in her office building. Those few seconds would be all I would need. I was dressed as a security guard. That made me as invisible as the mailman, the cable guy, and the UPS man. Everybody saw me but nobody noticed me. As Denise rounded the front of her van she encountered me clutching a clipboard. I saw her eyes open wide and questioning, her key fob in her right hand. The needle concealed by the clipboard was in her neck before she even had a moment to react. As her legs collapsed under her I scooped her up, claimed her keys and opened the door to her van. In another few seconds, as she slumbered in the passenger seat I was directing the van on its normal route home. Who notices how many security guards there are at work? Who studies their faces? Who is aware when one disappears? Even if Denise saw more than my uniform, she would have little more than the vaguest impression of what I looked liked. Since no one had really seen me arrive, no one would see me leave. As far as anyone observing knew, Denise got in her van and headed home, which was true, in a way.
