Ad Nauseam - By C. W. LaSart Page 0,36

snapshots. Some of the women had removed their tops, their lacy bras glowing under the black light. Others wore shirts that revealed more than a bra, sheer fabric glued with sweat to bare breasts. In tight pants and short skirts they bounced and grinded, pulling the eyes of the men standing on the fringes, their drinks gripped in sweaty hands with cocks half stiff from the parade of flesh.

Sometimes a brave soul would wander into the fray, only to have his advances rebuffed by the very women who had seemed to be inviting him to join them with their lewd moves and fuck me glances. It was a brutal sport.

Someone bumped his shoulder and Scott turned, his senses assaulted by strong perfume and sweat. The woman smiled, her eyes glassy and bloodshot.

“Sorry about that,” she shouted over the music, the yeasty smell of beer heavy on her breath.

Scott nodded at her and looked away but she leaned in close, pressing her breasts against him. He felt her erect nipples poke against his arm.

“Hey. Wanna buy me a drink?” Another wave of beer breath.

“Not really.” He grimaced.

“What? You a fag?” She might have been attractive were she sober and not wearing so much makeup, but she sneered in a way that emphasized her overly large mouth, and her running mascara made her eyes looked like two dark holes.

“Maybe.”

“Well, fuck you, buddy.” She staggered away, quickly swallowed up by the crowd.

Glancing down the length of the bar, he was just about to give up for the night when he saw her, sitting on a stool with her back to the dance floor. Same as always. Scott sipped his vodka and swiveled on his stool a bit so he could see her as he pretended to watch the dancers. He eyed her long, dark hair trailing straight down her back in sharp contrast to the spikey, gel-hardened bobs and asymmetrical cuts the other women wore. He admired the conservative outfit she wore. Not a sign of her breasts or lace were visible through her modest clothing. It was all up to Scott’s imagination what lay beneath those billowy folds. And he’d spent many hours doing just that.

The first time Scott saw her, he knew she was the one. He had watched her for three nights now, and the feeling had only intensified, burning in his chest as he watched her sip her drink, oblivious to the crowd around her, her slender hands twirling the straw in her glass. He would have her. Tonight.

Scott watched with clenched fists as the muscular bartender leaned across the bar, saying something in her ear. The bend of the other man’s lips as he smiled at the girl told Scott he was flirting, but she only stared back at him with those fathomless dark eyes, neither smiling nor speaking until the bartender shook his head and walked away. Scott watched as she turned her head in his direction, her face expressionless. His pulse raced as he looked away.

From the corner of his eye, Scott saw her stand to leave, weaving her way through the rowdy crowd. He played it cool, finishing his own drink at a leisurely pace. He knew where she was going.

Walking out into the parking lot, Scott lit a cigarette and leaned against the rough brick wall, taking a deep drag and holding it for a moment. He hated that all the bars had gone smoke free. He couldn’t see the woman anywhere, but it didn’t matter.

***

Scott drove past the unassuming, single-story house and parked down the block under an ancient maple tree that hung low to the ground. The car would be all but hidden. Punching in the dashboard lighter, he surveyed the quiet neighborhood. The knob popped out and he lit his cigarette, smoking it at a leisurely pace. It was foolish to rush. Rushing might make him careless, and he couldn’t afford careless. Reaching into the glove box, he pulled out a pair of leather gloves and a mask he had bought in an S&M store in the city. He fit it snuggly over his skull, zipping the vertical zipper over the back of his head, leaving the horizontal one open across his lips. Scott liked the option of using his mouth. He also liked the terror it inspired in his victims. Reaching under the passenger seat, he retrieved a large hunting knife with a serrated blade. Looking at the digital clock on the dashboard, he saw it was a few minutes