His favorite pornographic magazine was the one he had found in the alleyway years ago. The same magazine his mother had watched him masturbate to. He had kept it all these years. He would masturbate often and look at the photos of Jesse and her open ass, recalling his mother watching him. It never failed to arouse him.

Jesse Ryder was dead. The real Jesse Ryder. Her real name was Sonia Hartman. She had died of a heroin overdose in the San Fernando Valley in California many years ago. But she lived forever in his favorite magazine - forever young. Forever lurid. Her ass forever open.

He went to the bathroom and washed his face. He looked at the bottle of antipsychotic pills on the shelf.

‘No pills,’ Jesse had said.

He took the bottle and poured the pills into the toilet, and then flushed it.

He looked at himself in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail of his face. He thought he was looking handsome. More handsome than yesterday.

What is happening? He thought.

Jesse had told him he must start killing again.

Was this real? Could it be real? Jesse had told him that if he started killing again, then his mother would return.

How was this possible?

Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he was imagining everything. Maybe he hadn’t killed all of those women. Maybe his mother had never sucked and fucked him.

Maybe it was all a dream?

He went back to the kitchen. The magazine was laying on the table. He lit another cigarette, staring at the magazine. Staring at Jesse’s face, looking over her shoulder as she spread her ass cheeks apart.

‘Do you remember the first time?’ - Jesse asked.

He smoked his cigarette.

‘When your mother watched.’

‘Yes.’

‘You were jerking your cock - and your mother watched you cum.’

He puffed his cigarette.

‘You think about that all the time’ - Jesse whispered.

‘Are you real?’ - He asked - ‘Or am I imagining this?’

‘Do you still have it?’ - said Jesse.

‘What?’ - He said.

‘Your mother’s lingerie?’

He puffed his cigarette.

‘Yes.’

‘Put it on - the lingerie’ - Jesse instructed - ‘and take me to the bedroom.’

He stubbed out the cigarette, and picked up the magazine.

He went to the bedroom and put the magazine on the bed.

‘Prop me up, so I can watch’ - Jesse told him.

He leaned the magazine against the pillows, and then started undressing.

‘Wear the black’ - said Jesse.

He opened a box and took out some of his mother’s lingerie. He put on the tiny thong and the bra.

‘Stockings.’

He rummaged through the box, and then pulled out a pair of black fishnet stockings that he pulled on.

‘Do you remember the first time with your mother, when she caught you dressed like this?’

‘Yes’ - he said.

‘How she did all those naughty things to her little boy’ - Jesse’s tone was husky and inviting.

‘Yes.’

‘How she fucked you.’

‘Yes’ - he said.

‘Lay down, and have some fun.’

He walked over to the bed, and lay down. He opened the magazine to the photos of Jesse.

‘That’s better’ - said Jesse - ‘Now we can relax.’

Jesse had come alive in the photos. She was moving, smiling and talking to him.

He looked up. His mother was standing in the room.

‘Just like old times’ - Jesse gave him a seductive grin.

His mother started undressing, and then climbed onto the bed next to him.

‘Hello Jesse’ - said his mother.

‘Hey mom’ - Jesse said innocently.

His mother took hold of his penis, and began jerking him.

‘Have you told him Jesse?’ - His mother asked.

‘Yes’ - Jesse replied.

His mother climbed on top of him, and his penis slipped inside of her.

‘You have to start killing again’ - said his mother, gently riding him.

‘Yes’ - he said.

His mother moaned. ‘If you kill, you can bring me back.’

‘Okay.’

His mother began fucking him harder.

His mother fucked him harder, and was screaming.

He awoke on his bed. He was wearing lingerie. The magazine was lying beside him too. He looked around the room.

There was no one there.

He looked at the magazine.

‘Jesse’ - he called her.

Nothing. Jesse was frozen and two dimensional.

‘Mom’ - he said.

The apartment was empty.

He went back to the kitchen, still wearing his mother’s lingerie. He sat at the table and lit a cigarette. Was he going mad? None of this could be real, but it seemed so very real. Jesse was talking to him, and telling him to kill. His mother had been in his apartment - and they had fucked - and she had told him to kill. It felt real.

It had to be real.

But how could it be real?