The Diary Of Insanity - Part 1 - Sex Stories

The Diary Of Insanity - Part 1

Disclaimer: READ THE THEMES - If you do not wish to read about this subject matter then do not proceed This is an entirely original work. All rights reserved ___________________ ___________________ Thursday 16th May 1991 11:14 pm Fuck. I'm in deep shit. If I don't go to jail I'll eat my kettle. I bloody well deserve it. I just drugged and raped a girl. Yeah, I know, no sweat right? But I panicked. I went too far. And how's she doing now? How the hell should I know? She's out cold and tied up in my basement. Okay. Deep breaths. Slow it down. ___________________ ___________________ Thursday 16th May 1991 11:29 pm Right. I needed a cup of tea. I have no idea why I'm writing this down. I can only assume its the drinks inside me. Oh yes, and the vodka I've been knocking back pretty much since walking through the front door. Criminals always seem to be caught when they write their plans down. Am I really fucking doing this? Fuck it, maybe I deserve to be caught. And this is too big a burden to bare. I have to offload it. I went out for a drink this evening. Didn't plan much exciting stuff. Just a few pints with an old friend who happened to be in town. I took a train to Clapham, then went on the underground to Balham. Met him at a pub called 'The Regent'. Nice place, good atmosphere. We had a few drinks. A few too many, actually. Got to talking about the old days. See, I've known this guy from school. He's one of my oldest friends, give or take a few other guys. But I've lost ...

... contact with them, whilst I've been seeing him regularly for years now. His name's Lee Orton. And he's fairly fucked up. In fact I could blame him for tonight. But no, I've wanted it to happen, and now it has. I've gotta deal, I guess. You may wonder what's so fucked up about him? Well you wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary if you met him. He's quite like me, really. Twenty seven years old, trying to build some sort of career. But he looks nothing like me. He's tall, black, and muscular. He has a strong jawline, and neat facial hair that blends perfectly into his bald head. Dark brown eyes, set deep in his face, give him an imposing and calculating look. But he makes up for that with a hearty laugh and a good sense of humour. Often the life and soul at parties, I feel honoured to be a good friend of his. But I digress. He's fucked up. I don't know his past in its entirety, but I think he's raped more than one woman. Its unnerving to think, but I can't judge him. Not when I've always thought about the crime with a certain sense of longing. And especially not after tonight. Oh no, I can never judge anyone again after this. We left the pub at about nine. He's got work in the morning, I had a train journey. So we said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways. It was an uneventful journey. The underground was quiet on a Thursday night, and I saw no one at Clapham Junction when I passed through it. It was eerie, I even had to get my ticket from a machine. I thought I was ...