Before his first kill he didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t think about killing, he thought about kidnap and rape, and being brutal. He hadn’t even considered killing - but the killing seemed like the most logical thing to do at the end of the episode.

He hadn’t thought about what would happen once it was over, and there was no more fun to be had. But when the fun was over, he knew he had to kill the woman. There was no way he could let her go after what he had done to her.

Everything he did had to be kept secret. There were other people involved in the secret - who knew what he did, but they were all dead.

Before his first killing he thought about kidnapping a woman, and treating her brutally. Raping and assaulting her. Humiliating and hurting her. He thought about how he would do it, where he would do it, and what he would do.

One day in his apartment he had sat, smoking a cigarette. He was remembering them. The women he had killed. By then there were three. He was thinking about their dead bodies. He had fucked their dead bodies and then cut them up.

It excited him, thinking of the dead. Of everything that led to them being dead.

And then he thought to himself - why do I do this?

Why do I kill?

He wished he had some deep understanding of why he did what he did. Why did he like torturing prostitutes, and then sexually assaulting them, and then killing them, and then fucking their dead bodies?

Maybe there was no need for a deep understanding. Maybe it was just simple. He was 99% rotten and 1% worried.

He wasn’t 1% guilty or ashamed - he was 1% worried of his secrets being discovered.

So overall he was 100% rotten - and of that there was a subset that was 99% excited about what he did, and 1% worried about it.

100% rotten. Rot wasn’t an instant thing. A tree didn’t go rotten overnight - it would take many years, and would start to small before spreading. Then, one day, the tree would be 100% rotten and die.

But his rot hadn’t killed him. The more rotten he became, the more alive he felt. When he was a teenager the rot had begun.

He had found some magazines - pornographic magazines. He had taken them home, and hidden them in his bedroom. His mother was downstairs, and he went to his bedroom and was looking at the magazines. His penis had gotten hard, and he had taken it out and was masturbating - looking at the girls in the magazine.

He hadn’t noticed his mother, who had come into the room. His mother was blonde, and mid thirties. She must have been young when she gave birth to him.

‘What are you doing?’ - She asked.

He covered himself up, and tried to hide the magazines.

‘Nothing, mother’ - he stammered.

‘Show me!’ - She yelled.

He was embarrassed, but he showed his mother the magazines. She flipped through the pages of the magazines. The photos of the women - naked. His mother opened the magazine to a page and laid it on the bed. The photo was a double-page spread showing a blonde woman inserting two fingers in her anus.

The woman in the magazine was Jesse Ryder.

‘Undo your pants’ - his mother commanded.

He hesitated.

‘I want you to show me what a dirty boy you are.’

He undid his pants.

‘Now play with it - jerk your dirty filthy cock’ - his mother instructed.

She stood and watched him as he masturbated to the naked photo of Jesse Ryder. He ejaculated.

‘You’re a filthy, disgusting pervert’ - said his mother.

She took the magazines from him.

That was the first bit of rot - just a little bit.

After this, he walked for hours around the alleyways and backstreets, looking for more magazines. He would go through garbage cans and dumpsters, hoping he would find a magazine, and then he could take it home and his mother could catch him masturbating again, and watch him.

And then he started watching his mother. He would watch her through the bathroom keyhole while she bathed in the tub. He would crouch silently - watching her wash herself. He would masturbate as he watched her. He would watch his mother shave her legs, and shave her bikini line. He would watch his mother apply body lotion. All the time, he would masturbate and then silently creep back to his room.

A bit more rot, and a bit more alive.

He didn’t have a dad. He never had a dad. He had asked about his dad, but was always told to shut up.

His mother would have men over, and he would lay in bed and listen to them. He would listen to his mother grunting and groaning. He heard the men say things through the thin wall. He heard one of the men say ‘Suck it you fucking slut’. And he imagined his mother sucking something. What was she sucking?

One day when his mother was out, he went into her room and went through her draws. He found his magazines, and his mother’s underwear. Tiny, skimpy underwear. He took his clothes off, and put on some of his mother’s underwear - a tiny thong and a bra. He lay on his mother’s bed in her underwear, and masturbated and then ejaculated harder than he had ever done before.

More rot, and more alive.

He cut a small hole into the wall between his bedroom and his mother’s. The hole was next to a picture hanging on his mother’s bedroom wall. He put a poster up in his bedroom to cover the hole. Unless you were looking for a spy hole, you would never know the hole was there.

His mother had a man over. He lay on his bed listening to them downstairs. They were drunk. His mother was laughing. He heard them coming up the stairs.

They went into his mother’s room, and he heard the door lock. As silently as he could he climbed out of bed. He moved to the hole and looked through it.

His mother was kissing the man. Her tongue was going in the man’s mouth. The man was fondling his mother - squeezing her breasts and grabbing her ass.

He began masturbating.

His mother and the man were naked now. His mother was holding the man’s penis and kissing him. The man lay down on the bed, and his mother climbed onto the bed, and began sucking the man’s penis. His mother was enjoying it - and she greedily licked and sucked. The man pulled her around, and she continued sucking him while he licked and sucked her pussy.

‘Oh yes, lick my asshole’ - his mother moaned.

He watched his mother and the man have sex. He masturbated the whole time he watched them.

When they were finished, the man got dressed and pulled out his wallet.

The man handed his mother some money, and then he ejaculated.

The rot spread, and he felt alive.

He continued watching and masturbating as his mother had sex with men for money.

He thought about having sex with his mother. His mother sucking and licking him. And then fucking her. Fucking her mouth, and her pussy, and her ass.

His mother caught him. He was on her bed wearing her lingerie and he was masturbating, looking at porno mags. Maybe he wanted to get caught. He thought his mother would be out for a couple of hours, and then she was standing in the bedroom staring at him.

He was embarrassed. His secret was exposed.

‘What are you doing?’ - She asked.

He didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything to say. His mother had seen him masturbate before - and had told him he was a filthy pervert. And he had seen her, sucking and fucking all those men for money.

He carried on masturbating, looking at his mother.

His mother stood frozen, not moving. But he carried on masturbating.

His mother got undressed, and climbed onto the bed. He had sex with his mother.

The rot was deep now.

He continued a sexual relationship with his mother. He watched his mother fuck for money, and she knew he was watching. She would position herself so that he could see everything. As she sucked and fucked she would stare at the little hole, knowing her son was watching her. When the man had gone, he would join his mother and they would fuck.

He was 18 now.

He began watching people fuck in cars at isolated areas. He would masturbate as they fucked in the cars - watching from the bushes. And he began breaking into houses and stealing women’s underwear.

His mother died the following year. She died in a car crash. She was drunk and hit a tree.

The only things he kept of his mother’s were her lingerie, and the porn mags she had confiscated from him years before.

The house was rented - and he moved into the farmhouse with his grandmother.

He would lay in bed at the farmhouse and masturbate looking at the magazine with Jesse Ryder, thinking of his mother watching him doing the same when he was a young boy. Telling him he was a filthy, disgusting pervert.

The rot was set. But it was harder to feel alive.

The farmhouse was a long way from the city, and he worked in a lumber yard. He had a girlfriend. He would imagine his girlfriend was his mother, and he would close his eyes, picturing her on top of him. He tried to make it feel good - but it was fake and that bothered him.

On weekends he would make excuses about having to go into the city to see about some work - a new job. He would visit seedy massage parlors. The dirtier and seedier, the better. He felt alive again. He appreciated the anticipation, the secrecy of what he was doing, and the unknown.

He liked the younger massage girls, and the ones whose situation was more desperate. The victims of sex trafficking. He could be rough with them, or force them to have unprotected sex. He would choke them as they fucked him. Their brown skinny bodies pumping up and down on him whilst he placed his hands around their throats and squeezed. They would try to pull his hands away, and he would squeeze tighter. Their faces panicked and scared. This would excite him more, and he would squeeze tighter.

He would tie his belt around their throats, and violently fuck them, slapping and degrading them. He liked to make them vomit, and cry.

He had become a filthy, disgusting pervert.

And then he decided - he wanted to go further. Not to just make them cry, or be scared, or to think he might go too far. He wanted to go too far. He wanted to be brutal.

The rot was dry. It needed more to complete its spread - and to make him feel completely alive.

His grandmother died, and she left him the farmhouse and the land, and an amount of money. He rented an apartment in the city, and began planning his escalation.

The massage girls were no good for what he wanted. He needed privacy and he needed time.

He began by looking for escorts in online classifieds. Blonde ones. Mid thirties, like his mother. He bought a second hand phone and a pre-paid sim card and messaged a few.

He received messages back.

He went to meet the first one. He was going to see her at her apartment. She opened the door. She was skinny, with a weathered face and was covered in tattoos. She had a tooth missing and looked like she had been smoking meth.

‘Hey baby’ - she said.

He turned and left.

He tried a few more, but none of them fit the requirements. He wasn’t looking for a skinny junkie. He was looking for someone just like his mother. His mother had an athletic body, blonde hair, and large sized breasts. She didn’t have any tattoos. Her face was pretty, not tired or weathered.

And then he found her. Her profile said her name was Chantelle. She was 35, and blonde. Her profile said she would do everything. Anal was extra. She said she was submissive. He messaged her, and they arranged to meet.

He went to her apartment and she answered the door. She was exactly what he was looking for. He could feel the rot awakening and starting to spread.

‘Can we have some drinks first?’ - He offered.

‘Once you pay sweetie, and I’ll wash your car if you like’ - she said.

He paid her, and she got her coat and bag. He took her down to his car, and they pulled away. He opened the glove box and took out a half bottle of vodka.

‘There’s a bar just up the road’ - he said - ‘Fancy a little sharpener?’

Chantelle collected the bottle, and took a swig, passing out in a few minutes. He removed and destroyed her sim card, and then threw her phone out of the car.

He drove to the farmhouse, and carried her inside.

He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do - but he knew what the theme would be.

He stripped Chantelle, and then tied her to the bed face-down. He put a ball gag in her mouth, and then got naked.

Chantelle was stirring.

‘Hello mommy’ - he said.

He climbed on Chantelle, and began raping her.

‘You like to fuck your little boy, do you mommy? - He moaned- ‘You like it when your little boy fucks you?’

Chantelle was screaming. He punched her in the face.

‘Your little boy is a filthy, disgusting pervert mommy’ - he said - ‘and he is going to fuck you so fucking hard.’

For the rest of the night he fucked and beat and tortured Chantelle. It was hours later, and Chantelle was unconscious. He stood looking at her. He hadn’t even considered killing her - but the killing seemed like the most logical thing to do now.

He tied his belt around Chantelle’s throat, and strangled her.

Chantelle was cut up and buried in a hole he dug the next day about a mile from the farmhouse in the woods.

He lit another cigarette at the kitchen table of his apartment.

Why do I kill?

I kill because I am 100% rotten, and killing makes me feel 100% alive - and I am a filthy, disgusting pervert.