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Message-ID: <49089asstr$1094037003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Shakes Peer2B <shakespeer2B@yahoo.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 31 Aug 2004 21:08:25 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} (New) [Short] To Kill A Man (Mf rape violent nosex caution)
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Date: Wed,  1 Sep 2004 07:10:03 -0400
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This is a dark tale. It is not about sex, though there is some allusion 
to some sexual matters. Read it at your own discretion, but keep your 
hand out of your pants. You  won't find anything to stroke about in this 
one. If killing and graphic violence are not your cup of tea, skip this one.
________________________________
This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If 
you're not both of those, don't read it.  Characters in a FANTASY don't 
get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't 
use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't 
live in a FANTASY so be safe.  The fictional characters in my stories 
are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what 
they do - someone could get hurt.

If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, 
congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the 
characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, 
since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.

This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You 
can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but 
if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
_________________________________
To Kill A Man (Mf rape violent nosex caution)
(C)Copyright 2004 - Shakes Peer2B
shakes_peer2b@NONOsbcglobal.net
(remove 'NONO' from the above address to contact me)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Shakes_Peer2B/
http://storiesonline.net/library/author.php?name=Shakes_Peer2B
________
This is a dark tale. It is not about sex, though there is some allusion 
to some sexual matters. Read it at your own discretion, but keep your 
hand out of your pants. You  won't find anything to stroke about in this 
one. If killing and graphic violence are not your cup of tea, skip this one.
________
What does it take to kill a man? In the sixties, for me, all it took was 
an order.

"Take out that sentry."

Hand over mouth and sharp jerk backwards to get him off balance.  The 
blade plunged in just below the ribs, the shock of it entering his 
kidneys keeping him still long enough for the slash across the throat 
that severed carotids and windpipe. Quick, quiet, efficient.

"There's your target, sniper. The one with the officer's cap."

The sharp crack of the expanding gases that propelled the bullet at 
supersonic speed from the muzzle of the rifle sounded extraordinarily 
loud in the stillness of the jungle.  Never mind. A thousand yards away, 
the Charlies near the officer heard the meaty thwack as the slug 
impacted his skull, and felt the spray of blood and tissue before they 
heard the shot. The spotter and I were long gone before the enemy even 
left the compound to search for us.

Dozens of little brown men died under my blade or by my bullet. Others, 
I did with my hands.  I didn't know it at the time, but a little bit of 
my soul died with each one of them.

When we lost, turning our backs on the excuses we made for being there 
to begin with, I had nowhere to go. I tried various jobs, but there 
aren't many legitimate civilian jobs for which being an assassin 
prepares you.  This cardboard box is my home now. I keep my cart close 
at hand, but everyone knows better than to touch my stuff.

It was just the barest of whimpers and the sound of a scuffle that 
brought me out into the dark of the alley. The years had burnished a few 
glints into the dull black blade of the Ka-bar, but it was still razor 
sharp.

He had his hand over her mouth, stifling her screams as he bent above 
her. Her eyes reflected her terror, even more so when she saw me behind 
him. He didn't notice, or if he did, he thought it was about him.

It's been a lot of years since 'Nam, and I'm a little out of practice. 
The Ka-Bar grated on bone as it drove beneath his ribs. Not perfect, but 
good enough.  His mouth opened in a silent scream under my palm, and I 
dragged him away before perforating his lungs several times, so as not 
to get the blood on her - she had been through enough.

I got my cleanest blanket - one I stood in line more than two hours and 
listened to a boring sermon to get - and wrapped it around her.  She 
could've been twenty or twelve. In the dark, it's hard to say. She 
looked at me with ancient eyes that had no more tears, and took the 
knife from my hand.

Deliberately, she walked to where he lay, gasping for air with lungs 
that couldn't work.

"Do it quick." I whispered, "No hesitation. The cops will think I did it."

A grateful glance flashed over her shoulder. She stood there for several 
seconds, then stooped.  The worn blade of the Ka-Bar flashed in the 
light of a distant street lamp, once, then her left hand rose, carrying 
its prize.  He had no air in his lungs with which to scream. She watched 
his eyes as she stuffed it into his gasping mouth. I nodded my approval 
as she handed back the knife.

He heaved a few more times, then died.

On the street, there was an all night diner.  Doris, the night cashier, 
was good people, and I left the girl in her care.

"Tell the cops the truth." I told her, "That I killed and mutilated him 
when I caught him raping you."

She started to protest, but I stopped her. "I will not be here. They 
won't find me, and you have enough to worry about."

In the restroom of the bus station, I shaved off my beard and cut my 
hair, thanking Ryan Seacrest for the fact that my hack job, with the 
help of a little gel, looked fashionable, then donned the one clean 
outfit I owned. Hailing a cab, I rode across town.  I walked several 
blocks to the train station and bought a ticket to somewhere else.

What does it take to kill a man?  As I sat in the dark on the Amtrak, 
lulled by the clicking of the wheels on the rails, I reflected on that. 
No one had given me orders, this time.  This one I did on my own. 
Somehow, though, I felt that, finally, I had gotten back a little piece 
of my soul.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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