She paid almost 30 thousand for one semester, now, now she's stuck in this dingy strip joint and she won't leave me alone, no matter how uninterested I seem. I don't even know why I got the idea to come here, these kinds of places disgust me more than they do get more horny. I guess I what I am trying to say is that I understand the allure of such places but to me, naked, sweaty bodies in a terribly ventilated building doesn't really get me excited.

Regardless, out of all the places that are here in America. This is the easiest place to find young girls down on their luck or if their stupid, looking for new experiences. Those are the girls I like the best, new experience seekers. They make the act more fun. Girls down on their luck, no. No they start crying and begging for their life and shit. I haven't even done anything to make them think they're going to die. Just a simple little love tap is what I give them and they get all fucking religious. Please god this and please god that! That shit annoys me!

My first kill wasn't even that annoying, then again it couldn't even talk.

The year was 1976 and I was at the throes of puberty. You know, random boners here and there, look at a girl funny and my manhood was at attention. Sometime around the 6th grade, I began to mess around with him. I didn't understand why, I just knew that it felt good. I started with my dad's pornos but at a certain point it stopped working for me. I just couldn't reach it with the same old, same old. Or at least that's what I thought because the first porno mag that I stole from my local drug store couldn't get the job done either.

At first I thought that pussy wasn't exactly what I wanted, you know, the thought really passed in my head. I could be a faggot. But no that can't be it, how could me, A man, like another man. That's fucking stupid, Im fucking stupid for thinking that.

Well anyways, I tried it. Im not proud to admit I stuck a finger in my ass at around 12, just to see, just to see, just to see if that's what I liked. I didn't, Im happy that I didn't. I can't be no fucking faggot. I rather die than be a goddamn Homosexual. My parents would've drop dead right there, having a faggot in their house. Thank god. Fuck that.

After that, I thought well maybe I want the real thing, you know. Maybe my hand wasn't cutting it. Considering that my hands are ruff and dry, I'd imagine that having sex with a real person it would be different. But no, I found myself disappointed again.

When I was 15, I had made the discover that ultimately laid out the plans for the rest of my life. It was probably the first time I became happy in my short, boring life.

The older I got, the less and less friends I had because the truth is, why would I need them? Well no, the truth was, I couldn't make friends. Either way, whatever direction you want to look at it, I had no friends, no social interactions with kids my age. My mother saw this and felt some sort of way for me. I couldn't tell if it was pity or anger, that her youngest son was recluse. Without my consent, she took action and took matters into her own hands. I was a young, hormonal teenager now stuck with the responsibility of taking care of a small rodent.

I still remember what my mother told me.

"Sammy, I have a surprise for you."

My mother handed me a small cardboard box and instead of opening to something that would make me happy, it was a tiny brown hamster. I asked her why would she give something like this to me.

"You spend all day in your room, doesn't it get lonely just being in there all the time? I thought you would want a little friend to keep you company. I even bought it a little cage and food and everything."

The Idea of her buying me a "friend" confused me. I couldn't tell if it was an insult or a pry for pity. Anyways, I kept the hamster because I thought maybe having a friend would, alleviate, my day to day anxieties. I set up everything for "Mr. Hamster".

I was getting especially frustrated this afternoon. I was probably about it for about 2 hours. I know, that's a long fucking time. Well anyways, my mind began to wander along with my eyes and they both stopped on Mr. Hamster. He was so precious with his soft brown coat of fur and his big adorable eyes. He looked very powerless.

My left hand gripped hard on my manhood and my right hand gripped harder on poor, little, defenseless Mr. Hamster.

That orgasm, was something that I needed. It felt so good, I forgot about myself.

Luckily for me, I thought about the mess. Before I did it, I put Mr. Hamster in a sock so that I wouldn't see my adorable, little friend, completely destroyed. But I couldn't help myself, I had to take a peek. When I did, I was hard all over again.

Of course, I had to explain what happened to Mr. Hamster to my mother. I told her that I just left the cage door open and he just happened to make his escape. She never bothered me about it afterwords.

Since then, I couldn't go back to just masterbating over some naked bitch. I wanted to feel that orgasm all the time, every time I touched myself.

The older I got and found myself a part-job part. I used my money to buy hamsters on the weekends. They were about 4 dollars then but I switched to mice because they were cheaper, about 30 cents. But the more I did it, it started to lose my sensitivity towards it. I guess that just how everything is in life. I switched to dogs, cats and now, I find myself here, looking for sweet, warm, young flesh.

To me, it's the same as picking out a cute animal at a pet store. Places like these make it easier for me too, a wide range of young American Women.

My preferences aren't usually open to black girls but this nigger won't stop talking about herself. I never had a stripper talk this much to me before. I usually prefer if they don't talk to me at all. However, something about this black girl peaks my interest and a thought starts to form.

I wonder if she is this vocal when she has barrel down her throat?