Posted by Barbanne on January 08, 2004 at 21:55:26:


Brian stared ahead through the windscreen.
Stuck at an interminable set of traffic lights he had time to think. He sniffed his jacket sleeve, Chantell's perfume still lingered. He saw again in his mind's eye her magnificent body. Chantell was in her early thirties and was a real woman. Mature, slightly heavy, her one seventy centimetre frame enabled her to carry a little extra weight and get away with it. She was voluptuos. Maybe her blonde hair needed a little help to get that way and maybe she wore a bit too much make-up, but she was all gal, a positive garden of feminine delights and he loved gardening with Chantell.
He remembered the smell of her skin, musky, sweaty, a real woman's smell. He remembered the dark patch of damp hair at her crotch that gave the lie to her blonde head. The way his fingers probed the soft delights of the secret folds of flesh beneath her pubic hair, the way she moaned and called his name as he probed that sweet spot with his fingers and then his tongue. The way she reacted when his ministrations caused her to climax. The rush of stickiness, the increase in her body odours and the way she grasped at his body and called his name. He remembered the heavenly delight he felt as she took his engorged penis in her mouth and sucked and sucked and "sucked him to the root" as she had screamed it out. His penis trembling and then enlarging and spasms of delirium as it squirted and squirted, squirting everything down her throat.
A car honked and he realised the lights had changed.
He accelarated away.
Chantell. Her nudity was like a drug to him. The way she looked. The way she smelt. The sex they had. Her folds and creases, her big, soft breasts with their large, hard nipples, the hair under her arms, her busy fingers and her probing tongue. To know her was to love her.
God, Chantell was like a sex goddess. His sex goddess.
He sped up to make a green light at another intersection.
Green.......he thought.
The colour of jealousy.
That was the trouble with Pam. She was so damned jealous. It made her suspicious of everything he did. Her jealousy was what had driven him to start with Chantell in the first place. Now he wondered if Pam didn't compare rather poorly when measured against Chantell. Poor Pam. But Chantell was a woman of big appetites, big ideas, big thoughts and she had a big generous body.
Pam, his partner, the woman he'd lived with for over a year was so different. Pam was small, two, maybe three centimetres shorter than Chantell. Pam had a small, compact body. Rather a glorious little body when you thought of it. That was one thing that had attracted him to her in the first place. And no doubt about it Pam could be passionate. When she was in the mood she was like a tigress, insatiable. Sex with Pam then was a draining but gloriously satisfying act. Her little pixie face alight, framed by her bob cut, brown hair, almost like a helmet. Her face and body bathed in sweat she was every man's fantasy. Those fabulously pointy nipples on her small breasts growing and growing in direct relation to the level of her lust.
Yeah, Pam was something.
But she was moody, insecure, difficult and it led to outbursts of jealous rage. Anything he did was wrong if it didn't include her. Shit! he thought. If she knew about Chantell? He couldn't imagine it. She'd go ballistic. She'd go nuts. And yet he loved Pam in a way. But he couldn't live with her bright green jealousy. Oh Pam, he thought. What am I going to do?
Chantell, he thought and waves of warmth flooded him.

He turned into his driveway, killed the engine, collected his brief case and got out. Turning, he clicked the auto locking device and the car responded with it's little noises and a brief flash of the lights to let him know it had closed down.
He walked to the door and as he opened it, Pam came to him and crushed him in a squeeze. He gave her a perfunctory kiss and noticed that she smelt of booze and that she wobbled just a little. She'd been drinking. In the living room he caught the whiff of cooking coming from the small kitchen. He didn't recognise it but it smelt mouth watering. Pam had his arm. She was definitely woozy from alchohol, but now he could see her better, his breath caught as he took in the very short red shift with the vee neckline and tiny spaghetti straps. Despite only finishing mid thigh the dress had two slits which revealed a glimpse of warm white thigh as Pam flexed. The vee at the neck opened up to the top of Pam's abdomen and he could see the lace of her bra and the soft curves of her small breasts as the material of her frock opened and closed with her movements. Her legs were bare and ended in her amazingly high heeled, red, stilleto shoes. She looked sexy and she was obviously feeling sexy.
"Cooked something special for my favourite man."
"That's great dear."
"Hey, how do I look?" She did a wobbly twirl.
"Love you." She wound her finger in his lapel and looked up at him from almost ridiculously over made up eyes. Her pouty lips, covered in gleaming pink lipstick, sulked at him.
"Love you too." He put down his brief case and took off his jacket, tossing it on a chair. She came to him and wrapping her arms around him, pressed her breasts against his shirt front and rubbed her legs against his and pushed her mouth on his, lips parting and tongue flickering.
"Agh." She pulled back.
Her eyes gleamed at him. "And what bitch's feral stink is that that's all over you?"
"Don't Pam me you bastard. Who've you been with? What rotten bitch have you been fucking?"
"Pam don't be stupid."
"Don't tell me to not be stupid. You bastard!"
"BASTARD! Fucking Chantell. I'll bet it was that BITCH Chantell. FUCKING BASTARD!"
She rushed at him battering with her fists.
"Pam, for christs sake."
"Bastard, Bastard, Bastard...............Fucking bastard!"
"PAM!" he shoved at her.
Unsteady, drunk, she staggered and stepped back, propelled by his push. Her high heel caught in the carpet and she started to fall. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried to regain her balance and then CRAAACK! her heel broke and her foot dropped and she tumbled backwards. He grabbed at her but it was too late. He watched in horror as she fell backwards and then her head hit the edge of the thick, glass topped, coffee table with a sickening thud and her body hit the floor.
She lay on her back on the floor, her head propped up on the low table where it had hit. There was blood on the table and on her hair and blood was oozing from her nose. Her eyelids trembled and her pupils skittered back and forth.
"Pam!" He shouted and grasped for her. Help, he thought, gotta get help. Ambulance, where's the number. He looked down. Pam's body was convulsing. She was bad. Hurry Brian, hurry, he thought. He crossed to the phone. Hey wait, said a voice in his head. He thought of Chantell. How much he loved her. I could be free he thought. He looked back. Pam's body was twitching and her eyelids were still trembling. He went to the kitchen, opened a drawer and found a packet of rubber gloves. Taking a pair out, he snapped them on and went back in to where Pam lay. She groaned and looked at him briefly. Did he see recognition there? He grasped her bare shoulders in his gloved hands and lifted her. Her head flopped back on her neck. He slammed her head against the table, once, twice. Blood, thick and red snaked out of her nostril. Pink foam flecked her lips. She made a bubbling sound, "Kghghghghghghgh.......", and more blood flecked sputum drooled from her half opened lips. Her eyeballs rolled backwards until the pupils were staring at the ceiling behind her. He dropped her. She thumped onto the carpet, staining it with blood. Red, wet blood where the mush that was the back of her head rested. Being careful not to disturb her gore, he felt for a pulse with his gloved hand.
There was nothing.
Pam was dead.
Now, he thought, make it look like an intruder attacked and killed her.
He took the top of her dress and ripped it. It tore at the base of the vee and one side came away. He let it drape over her tummy leaving her bra exposed. The red lacy bra, one of her favourites. He grabbed it and tugged twice until the catches gave way and it came free. He pulled it down, freeing her breasts to flop out. He lifted her skirt and pushed it up her hips and then he shredded her panties as he tore them off.
He stood up and looked at his handiwork.
Pam sure looked dead.
Dead and violated.

He went to the phone. Snapped off the gloves and put them in a plastic bag. He'd get rid of them later. He dialled triple O. A voice answered.
"What service?"
"Police." He said. Then in a voice filled with anguish he said. "Oh God, get me the police. Help me please, my partner's been murdered."

Pam's funeral was sad. The police had made no headway on determining who had broken into their house and assaulted and killed her. An officer was at the funeral, as were Chantell and a couple of Pam's former workmates. Her parents were dead and her sister was overseas and had not come back for the funeral. Brian felt sorry for Pam as he looked at her coffin lying forlornly on the ground before it was lowered out of sight. Poor Pam, poor sad Pam. How ironic that she be killed just when their relationship was moving towards marriage. The marriage she'd always wanted, craved even. That's what Brian had told others and now he half believed it himself.
Then, of course, there was always Chantell.
As he walked away with her he took her arm.
"Can I see you tonight?"
"Of course darling come by about seven."
"I'll be waiting. Expecting you. I'll have a little surprise."

He arrived on the dot of seven.
The door to her serviced apartment was open. He let himself in. A lamp was on in the living room, casting a soft glow. Light was coming from the bedroom.
"Chantell?" He called.
There was no answer. Just like Chantell to make him come to her. Two could play at games like this. He undressed and crept to the bedroom door, eased it open and peered in. Chantell was lying in the bed with her back to him, the sheet around her waist. From what he could see, she was nude. Her beautiful, soft, full woman's body. Her back, the indent of her spine, the tops of her twinned buttocks peeking cheekily at him where the sheet began. Her thick, blonde hair, spilling all over the pillow, glowing in the soft lamplight. He snuck over on tip toe. No use spoiling her big surprise. He stooped and kissed her shoulder. She didn't move. She was going to play the game to the full. Her skin was sweet to the taste of his lips but cold. She shouldn't be getting herself cold.
"Awaken my princess." He said.
She didn't move. She was definitely going to make him play it out. He kissed her shoulder, the back of her neck, her ear, nuzzled her hair and lightly touching her bare shoulder, he rolled her back to face him as he puckered for a kiss.
He saw her full, round breasts as they flopped toward him, huge nipples upthrust. God she was an animal, a sexual animal.
Then he saw her eyes. Wide open, round with surprise like dollar coins. The whites were enormous, flecked with pink, her pupils reduced to pin points staring at him. Her full lipped mouth was open and pink inside, her tongue greyish and purple, lolling out of lifeless lips. Those lips stained with blue-black, dead blood, her teeth bared like a snarling cat, tipped with lipstick. He saw the telephone wire like a ligature, wound round her neck many times, pulled incredibly tight, digging into her fleshy neck so that it was all but invisible. Chantell gazed past him.
Wide open sightless eyes.
Mouth gaping and silent.
Body, full, erotic and very dead.
Chantell was a corpse. Strangled. Cold. Inanimate. Deceased. Defunct.
He jumped up. Turned. His breath coming in short spurts. his chest tightening, hurting. Bands of steel constricting it.
His eyes widened and his mouth opened to allow a keening horror to escape.
Pam stood there, her hand out to him.
"Stay away." He backed away from her. She was dead. How could it be.
"Stay away from me. Stay away from me. You're dead. I know you're dead. I saw you die."
She stepped forward. "Brian?" she said.
His chest was hurting, crushing him and he backed away, not noticing where he was, not aware he had stepped onto the balcony.
"Brian...." She screamed and leapt at him.
"Agh, no! Stay away you bitch. You're dead." He backed up furiously, she grabbed at him. His legs hit the railing and he over balanced, felt himself falling, looked back quickly, saw the ground below and then "Aaaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhhh!", he was gone.
He hit the concrete three stories below with a cracking crunch. Blood sprayed and flesh tore. Bones broke and shattered and Brian's naked body almost bounced before coming finally to rest, spreadeagled.
He was very, very, dead when the first person reached him.

The police spoke with the maid.
She was the main witness. Others had seen Brian fall, but only the maid had seen him in the room and before he fell.
"I knew it was Mister Brian." she told them, "but he acted so strangely. Really weird. I could see the lady in the bed was dead, but when I spoke to him, he just ran away."
"A guilty conscience is a punishing thing." The detective told her before thanking her for her help. It was obvious to them. Brian had killed Chantell and then when discovered by the maid, practically in the act, with his victim's body still warm, had fled and fallen to his death.

A week later the maid gave notice and left.
As she drove away, in the cab heading for the airport, Caroline thought how much she missed her sister Pam. She had never met Brian, except on the day he died, but she knew from what Pam told her that he was wrong for her and she had feared for Pam's safety.
"Oh Pam." She thought. "Rest in peace now darling."