J. Forte - The Sex Thief

Marc turned and jogged back in the direction he had come, his mind afire with the thought of having them together-a lesbian and her lover. As it turned out, however, the information he felt it was necessary to obtain before attempting to bring his fantasy to reality had been more difficult to come by than with previous victims. But, as always, his perseverance had paid dividends-now it was only a matter of hours until he would have his way with both women. He crept closer to the house he had entered on only one occasion, and as he reached the tiered steps that led from the beach to the sun deck, he paused; from the open glass doors above he heard the strains of violin music. He smiled confidently and walked beneath the stilt-raised dwelling and entered the storage shed built directly beneath the living area; here, the electrical service panels for the house were located, alongside the telephone service box Using a small penlight, Marc carefully removed the cover of the phone box and unhooked the voice-activated recorder; then he attached a tiny ear receiver with a volume booster, and the melodic strains of the classical music came to him from the living area of the house. He smiled as the subtle sounds of the two women making love came to him through the tiny listening device he had installed some two weeks before.

Satisfied, he removed the device from the box, fastened the lid, and placed the miniature tape recorder inside his jacket. Cautiously, he left the shed, walked back to the beach and looked up at the glass front of the home. I'll be back," he said softly to the surf, and took off at a slow trot up the beach.

A second stop in a quiet residential neighborhood some miles from the beach culminated the evening's activity. Back at his apartment, Marc settled in for the evening with a glass of brandy, a notebook and the tape from the beach house From it, he garnered the final bit of information he felt was necessary before making his move-and he knew it would be this weekend.

Thursday and Friday passed painfully slowly for him, and Marc found it difficult to concentrate on his work as he thought, time and time again, of the lovely blonde and her black lover. His fantasies ran wild as he envisioned them in a dozen different positions, with him orchestrating the combinations and giving the orders. Two women would not be new to him, hut the black and white combination was-as was the overt homosexual relationship they shared. The black woman's name was Jamie Cox-she was a buyer for a Hollywood firm that specialized in feminine attire, mostly custom-exotique, as it was called in the trade. The blonde's name was Marty Petersen-her occupation was that of designer for the same firm. The women had been living together for only a few weeks, Marc learned from a taped telephone conversation between Marty and a recently designated "ex" boyfriend-a fellow named Tom Louden-who was little short of insane at Marty's move to the black woman's beach house. Marc had further learned that Marty was not the first of Jamie's lovers: prior to Marty, she had lived with two other women; one in San Francisco before she had moved to Southern California, and one just be, fore Marty moved in with her. A routine credit check on the black lesbian, coupled with semi-public records, had given Marc some insight into the women he planned to take shortly: Jamie was twenty-seven, educated in the East, and came from a well-to-do Ohio professional family. Her father was an attorney, her mother a pediatrician. Marty, by contrast, was a native Californian, had attended UCLA for two years before accepting a position with a bathing-suit manufacturer as a junior designer, then had taken the new 'job only a few months before. Marty was twenty-three and came from a lower-middle-class home in San Diego, where she had lived for most of her life.

As the sun Set slowly that Friday, Marc prepared himself. He called his answering service and informed them that he would be spending the weekend in Palm Springs in the home of a friend, but would be unreachable until Sunday night or early Monday morning. Then he drove across town to the lot where he kept his second automobile, parked and locked his Porsche and checked the things he kept locked in the trunk of the Chevy His heart beat rapidly as he went over his plan one last time and the excitement he had felt for the past two days was amplified now as he realized how daring this escapade would be. It seemed that the longer he engaged in his pastime of sex through force, the more daring he became… was it a subconscious desire to be caught? He had posed that question many times in the past, and he recognized the psychosexual implications that arose from the situations he created time after time. Still, he could not quit. He was as addicted to his particular "sport" as any heroin addict to his drug, and the chance of being caught only made the chase more exciting.

Marc pulled the Chevy into the lot of the twenty-four-hour shopping center several miles south of his destination, parked and locked the vehicle, and took off at a brisk stride toward the beach, a half mile away. The beach house was dark as he approached it from the south, and he glanced at his wristwatch as he paused a hundred yards down the beach and looked both ways. The beach was clear, and he kept to the low rise of sand to his right as he approached the house. Climbing the stairs, he went directly to the north side of the house, where a walk led from the drive to the sun deck; he removed the screen from the window carefully, and in less than a minute he was inside a small guest room, the screen replaced and the window locked. Quickly, he made his way into the living room and unscrewed all the light bulbs from lamps and fixtures, then repeated the process in both baths and the three bedrooms of the home. Finally, in the kitchen, he completed his task and made his way back to the entrance hail and

opened the closet door; be pulled the ski mask over his head as a double precaution, then removed the articles he would be using shortly from inside his wind-breaker. As he waited impatiently, Marc felt his hands sweating inside the leather gloves, and he glanced repeatedly at his wristwatch as the minutes seemed to crawl one after the other, slowly, toward the appointed time when he knew the women were due to return.

Then his pulse quickened and he felt a surge of excitement go through his body as the sound of Jamie's automobile came to him from outside the house. The engine revved once, then fell silent, and Marc stepped into the closet and pulled the door closed after him. He heard voices and a light laughter as the two women entered the beach house; then he smiled as Jamie exclaimed, "Shit! The lights are out!"

Marty said something he could not hear clearly and Jamie replied, "The breakers are downstairs… I'll check them, honey. Just relax, it's no big deal… He listened closely as he heard the doors of the sun deck slide open and the woman's firm steps on the stairs outside. Cautiously, Marc opened the closet door and saw the faint outline of Marty standing near the center of the living room. His eyes had long since become accustomed to the darkness and he crept forth quietly, a wide piece of adhesive tape in his left hand. He could smell the fragrance of Marty's perfume as he crept closer, and as the sound of her breathing came to him he reached out, clamped his left hand over her mouth to press the tape tightly, and grabbed her right arm in his hand.

Much to his surprise, Marty did not struggle, attempt to cry out or try to pull away from him. She simply fainted. Quickly, he lowered her to the floor, bound her wrists at the small of her back and slipped a sleep mask over her eyes, tightening the elastic band around her golden hair.

His pulse was racing as he moved his gloved hand over her thigh, then moved it to her breasts to find her braless. He swallowed thickly and forced himself to stand away from her as he heard Jamie coming up the outside staircase again. As she pushed through the drapes, she called out, "Marty? Hey… all the breakers are okay… looks like we'll have to make do with candles until we can get someone…" Marc cut her off in mid-sentence as he reached out and slipped his forearm around her throat and grabbed her arm. "Wha… " she exclaimed, as he tightened his grip around her throat.