Ravager

"27 M, straight, looking for a sensual partner in Phoenix, easy to get along with, clean, no addictions, happy to drive to meet."
This was the classified that I posted three nights ago on Craigslist.
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Find the fraud.
Maybe I'm not really very easy to get along with, and my true persona is vindictive and violent, with nothing but murder flowing in my veins. 
Perhaps the deceit lies in my cleanliness, with my dwellings being littered with my own trash, reeking of smoke and decay, mould growing in various places. 
Or maybe even that I'm not as substance-free as I say, my mind and body fixated on my next line, my next puff, unable to go on without it.
The truth of the matter is: none of those things are accurate.
I am easy to get along with. I am clean, and I have no addictions.
I am a normal man, with a mundane life. Mostly.
I have never told a single lie to any of them. My words have always been true, and if they'd asked, I'd have told them.
All it takes is a little safety, a little forethought, to understand that the kind of carnal pleasures one undertakes from these sites are fraught with fakes. But the desperation is immense; the fear of loneliness is such a blight that people will resort to sex with strangers to feel some sort of connection. It's a form of denial, really. You tell yourself that you're good in bed, and that your assets are large, and that you have pleased so many; which means you must be doing something right. You can't possibly be terrified that your life is a dead end with intercourse as a vice, can you?
But not me. I don't need to tell myself anything, because they tell me everything.
I discovered a particular forum-based website a year ago: Crucible.com. It changed me into more than I could ever have hoped. It started as a casual interest, following a breakup I'd had. I needed a distraction, a purpose to fill that void. I needed a focus to put my needs to good use. I had always been a forceful person in the bedroom; I very much enjoyed being in control of my partners. As my last relationship went on, I began to grow bored very quickly, and the boundaries began to be pushed as I discovered newfound interests, spiraling out of control as I began to view her as a guinea pig for my desires. I had no outlet anymore, and self-pleasing was becoming ineffective. I needed something else.
I think it began when I was young. I'd find that my voice was heard more often, my face seen more than most. I was the one who caused trouble in school; the class clown. The attention was the driving force behind it. The admiration from my peers, the command I had of my teachers. I didn't do enough to be expelled, but enough to cause decent disruption in the school. I'd do things like make jokes in class, set off the alarms, that kind of thing. This validation became much more erotic as I grew into adulthood, becoming a sexual idea that only became more demanding as time went on.
The potential was there, I just needed a guide.
And find one, I did.
Several, in fact. They came in the form of sympathizers, advisors, and like-minded people. I was elated to have finally found where I belonged, where I'd be understood. They told me that she was wrong, that she didn't know how good she had it, that I should have taken it further. And they were right.
Over time, I lamented and ranted about my frustrations and plans, using my anonymous account, garnering attention and support for my plight. It felt unimaginably good to have them give me so much praise; it was utter bliss to have my thoughts validated by those who could truly relate to my problems.
Then, I met Rick.
Rick was wonderful. Him and I met about seven months ago on the forum, and since then, we'd chatted almost daily. I found out that he didn't live alone like I did, but in fact was married with two kids and lived in the suburbs. I became enthralled by him; his views just made sense. He was a powerful man, just like me, and I admired it. His wife had no idea he used the site, and his accomplishments, both sexual and career-based, were immense. He worked as an architect, and he'd gone to lengths I'd never even dreamt of with his subjects.
Then, three months ago, he told me that he had found the ultimate source of power.
He told me that I could do it too.
I felt giddy with anticipation; Rick was sharing this with me. He elaborated on what he meant, and told me what I needed to do. He told me that the hard part was getting it, and that he knew it sounded ludicrous, but the payoff was incredible, and that his first time had been beyond anything he'd done before. And boy, was he right.
The first step was to gain it.
This was difficult, and it took a long while because I just couldn't get what I needed, but I persisted. I couldn't let Rick down; he'd shown me the way, and I needed to see what he had felt. I needed that power.
Of course, there were a number of ways you could acquire it, none foolproof, all dangerous. One could shoot up, one could even screw their way there; whichever way I chose would be risky. I hated drugs, their effects seemed so unattractive. They appeared to work well on subjects, apparently, but no way was I going near them.
And so I found myself hiring prostitutes.
I took this opportunity to test what I'd read on my own subjects, reporting back on my findings. It spurred me on to see that their advice worked; I knew that they, including Rick, knew what they were talking about. The best was Sheila, a nice blonde from Louisiana. Her accent did annoy me a little, but the gag made up for that. They were right that coating ball-gags with gasoline made for an excellent display of disgust, a punishment for talking too much, indeed.
And who would they tell? No one would believe them. I had the power.
My funds started to diminish, my job as a sales associate only just covering my constant coital expenses. I couldn't keep trying this regularly for much longer. I was beginning to lose hope before Sally happened.
Sally was my saving grace, that black haired beauty with such beautiful emerald eyes. She took my money with such earnest, telling me how grateful she was, that I'd just helped her pay her rent. She didn't leave grateful, though.
I'd tied her to the bedposts after picking her up from the city, given her what I felt was a damn good time, and she'd left with bright red marks on her wrists.
The walk to the clinic filled me with nervousness; even though I'd done it countless times now, the unknown outcome made me unsettled until I knew for sure.
The test I'd done so many times was finally showing me what I needed.
Positive.
Sally the streetwalker, the whore; the harlot. She had given me the means to obtain total control.
I remember feeling absolutely ecstatic, though I'd had to hide this from the doctors. They needn't know I was happy to have the power.
The next step was to exert it.
Rick had been underselling it. The first time was not just the ultimate power; it was the ultimate existence.
My first subject with what I had was a pretty young woman who wanted to hook up. I told her I was Adam, and that I lived in Seattle, but was visiting a friend in Tucson, which is where we met. I wasn't.
I felt things I had never felt before, absolute enchantment delighting my senses. The source was from the fact that, while we did it, I wasn't there. I wasn't pleasuring her, I was pleasuring myself. I felt the colossal measure of power course through me, as I realized that I had transcended what it meant to be powerful. I could choose who to infect, who to leave clean. I could mark my subjects permanently, or I could let them go. I didn't even care that this was my life now. It was too good to matter.
I thanked Rick a thousand times for his kindness, and told him he was right. He said that I should make a post about it on the forum, and that he's on his third subject now.
And so, this brings me to the present.
I have moved cities, away from my first subject. I shouldn't have worried, there were no police inquiries that came my way. It seems that Rick was right again; the shame really does shut them up.
My latest classified has been up for seventy two hours, and no biters yet.
They'll come though, they always do.
It does make me amused to see them when they reply, because, like I said; just a little forethought would change their fate. But I'm not complaining; I'll relish in the dominion I have been granted over them, as long as they keep coming. I never falsify my statements. I never fabricate things. This isn't an addiction; I can stop whenever I like, and I'm clean in every sense because this isn't a plague, it's a strength. And I certainly am an agreeable person. I'm always polite to my subjects now.
Ping!
Oh, look, finally. There's a reply.
Let's see if they can find the fraud.
Category:Computers and Internet
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Category:Weird
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