getting closer to...killing harry

    harry was, to be quite tender about the whole thing, the daddy i never had.   
    purrrhaps that was why my little psychopathik heart beat simply with delite upon the thought of him being my very, very own!
    you all know by now, that anyone who is mine, is mine to kill.
    i've had some feedback on sharing my open little heart, and how iccchy pooo i am to utter my longing to terminate guys.

harry looked like that sweet old timey small town entrepreneur.

i sooo longed for the moment i would take his life...

    As if i were a giddeee high school girl flushy flushed with a crushy crush.  
    look dahlings, for meee, to kill is to love. and, (cliche alert!)...to love is to kill.
    and, so, my sweeets, to kill harry would be a yummy yum yum act of tender love for your auteur and snuff girl here.
    as for harry...i liked him sooo much more than the typical gentlemen i get to do.
    so i decided to make this sooo intimate. what does intimacy mean for the baddd girl misty?
    read on, my luvs, and ye shall see...

i'd killed marks by drugging them in a bar, taking

them outside for a makeout session, and then

tossing them to the ground and putting them to

sleep forever, hand over their nose and mouth...

    not to give anything away...hate doing that.
    intimacy to me means a bit more than the typical 9mm in the sweet spot at the base of the skull. that's all fun and nice, sugah and spice. but i wanted to actually touch harry as i took him across that great divide.
    i'd killed marks by drugging them in a bar, taking them outside for a makeout session, and then tossing them to the ground and putting them to sleep forever, hand over their nose and mouth. but i wanted something more tender for harry...
     and...i wanted to actually meet this sweet pops, straight out of a jimmy stewart flicker. meet him before he would be mine for that final momento. maybe run into him at the market. flirt a bit...before the ultimate flirt.

i flopped down on the bed, thought about killing harry,

and began to touch myself...

  
    so, i arrive in my nondescripto auto rental, pulling into town late one night. checking into one of those motels that, in the morning, offer coffee and glazed donuts with a sugar shellac harder than my estee lauder 'dark of midnite' nail polish.
    i'd be lyin' if i didn't admit, the first thing i did after check-in, and flopping down deliciously nude on my motel box spring, was to practice my onanistic arts.
    for those of you who didn't ace your verbal PSATs, onanism for a chic is sticking her long, sexy fingers up her cunt and bringing herself to a hottt orgasm while thinking about something sexeee. like killing some sweet old man who is cute enough to be her dad.
    yes. i am sooo fucked uppppppp. and lovinggg it my honies!
    as the countrywestern lyrix whined on the room's one channel radio, i bit my pillow as not to wake up the car parts salesman in the next room.
    whilst i swoooned, i imagined harry's last few seconds prior to being no more. his sweet ole life in my baaad girl hands.
    would there be a rope around his handsome old neck? or a pillow over his face? i hadn't decided...i just knewww...that i was...about...to...tooo.......oh...oh......ooooohhh...

    i came!...thinking about nixing harry. and i promptly fell asleep.
    it was a good sleep.
    i'd awaken the next day. and...
    and decide where and when to introduce myself.
    to.....harrrrrry.