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It began when I was eagerly waiting for my “friend” to arrive, if you can even call him a friend. An ignorant hookup that started in ‘98 had continued well into my fifties. I’m almost fifty-seven. It's sick, perverted. I'm married, I have a wife and kids. He has a girlfriend and literal babies. I'm older than him, smarter, cruel and sick. It’s not necessarily the homosexuality that’s sick, but the fact that we’ve hidden it and kept it underground, while still being loyal to whoever we were, or are with. For well over twenty years I've been hiding behind the shadow of a depressed, dark and pretentious vampire. All of those songs, the albums, the memories… they no longer mean anything like I wish they would. I finally get my chance to no longer hide behind his fucking fame. His egotistical, shit-eating grin will finally be gone. Recording a shitty album and then giving me all of the profit was the payment I needed for this. Surprisingly, he was tired of being in the spotlight. This is because he knew that hiding our homosexual interactions would no longer be possible. He wanted what was coming to him. But does he even know what I really want to do? Does he know the things that I’ve long pondered on doing to him? I feel antsy as the time draws near. I look around, no one's home. Good. My kids are at school. My wife on the other hand, I have no clue. Gone for sure. Probably cheating on me. I can't stop my train of thought. It's too much. I hear the doorbell. I feel no dread, but I wonder how I’ll carry this out. This isn’t right, I know that, I don’t care. What if I get caught? I can’t think about that. Now is the time, I know I won’t get my chance again. Without saying anything, I take him up to my room where we’ve usually carried out our forbidden sexual favors. This time would be the last. No words passed our lips, but he looked happy. He smiled with his eyes rather than his face. His aging face showed no signs of the slightest grin. How pathetic must you be to hide behind an angsty fucking façade all these years? I dare not say these thoughts. He still thinks I love him. I was a stupid addict when I first met him, adorned with my rather foolish-looking mullet and raggedy, thrifted clothes. I’m not sure why he loves me after all of these years. But I know one thing for sure, and it’s that I'm sick of him. I loathe him. I hope he realizes I wanted to be him. Everyone loves Billy, Not Jimmy. I was too deep into thought to realize I was already stripping him naked. He grabbed my hips sensually. The more I took off of him, the further he brought me closer. I won’t lie, I will miss the sex. He wasn't an awful fuck, though I did feel quite dirty for our time spent together. I don't think people realize that Billy wasn't residing in the same fit, clean body he used to. Age had caught up with him, as it had with me before I corrected it with plastic surgery. A thin trail of abdominal hair traced up his pudgy stomach. I can see why he was bald, he didn't grow much of anything. I had been too caught up analyzing his disgusting figure. I was already on top of him, moving my hips on his pasty cock, faking moans and exaggerating my body language just so he thought it was genuine. I remained flaccid throughout the ordeal, I'm glad erectile dysfunction was common at our age. I was okay with having sex with him, but I wasn’t into it. I only wanted to drain the life out of him. Billy thought it was genuine, and that was all that mattered. I soon became disgusted at his moans, which sounded too much like his singing. I was reminded of my time growing up in Joliet. I began having memories of all the times he overshadowed me. It’s always been just fucking like Joliet, Illinois. Everyone just loved Billy. But James Chamberlin? Jimmy? I was just a fucking joke. James Joseph Chamberlin was nothing but a joke. The entirety of my career was the same as my childhood, I was looked over. I was always forgotten, left out. I just wanted to be acknowledged. He kept calling my name out as he moaned, getting closer to his climax. He let out a primal groan, leaving his seed inside of my asshole. I’m disgusted. This infuriated me. I snapped. I reached my hands up to his neck and strangled him until he began turning different colors, I was enraged. I couldn't stop. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” I repeated in grunts as I tried to make the man, who was well over a foot taller than me, pass out. I was euphoric as I heard him choking, begging for air, instantly regretting paying me to kill him. It starts now. Billy passed out, and I was ecstatic. I quickly got off of him, still naked, and got the things I needed. It turns out my former heroin dealer was still in business. I injected enough into Billy to make him overdose in his passed-out state. Vile creatures die poorly. I no longer felt a pulse as I put my fingers against his slightly scarred-over wrists and I smiled. I did what he never could have. I was better. I backed away from the scene. Billy had died. I had just killed someone, someone I had known for years. Someone who had called me a friend, and I felt nothing, besides relief. I had his lifeless body all to myself. I looked around on the floor and picked up my trousers, pulling them up my legs. I walked downstairs into the kitchen and raided the silverware drawer for any utensils. Nothing that could cut through what I needed it to. I shut the drawer and looked around. That was when I saw a cleaver sticking out of the knife block on the granite counter. That’s it. I grasped the handle in my hands and pulled it out. I made my way back up to the bedroom, feeling it swing by my side. I saw Billy’s body on the bed. I walked towards him slowly. I pulled him by the arms onto the floor, his knees making a thud as they clashed with the hardwood. I laid him out on his back. I moved my hands down to his neck, putting my fingers back on the flesh they had wronged. His skin was still warm. I pushed his head back, putting his tendons and Adam’s apple on display before raising my arm up and striking his neck with the cleaver. I kept hacking at the tough mess of sinew and bone as the blood poured. A gurgling sound emerged from his mutilated trachea as the last of the trapped air his lungs contained exited from the new opening. A final wallop with all of my strength completely severed his head from his body. I let go of my grip on his forehead, seeing the way his head rolled over freely. I exhaled out of my nose and stood up, dropping the weapon to the ground. I was aroused at the way his violated body lay there in a pool of his own blood and pieces of tissue. I loved how messy it was, how brutal and primal the attack was. Pieces of flayed flesh and nerves extended from the physical trauma. I loved my work, yet my eyes drifted downward, and I found myself picking up the cleaver once more. I pushed the headless body over on its side. I grab Billy’s penis by the head and sever it from its base in one hack. Blood and seminal fluids rushed out of the wound, spilling onto the floor. I placed his cleaved member on his chest and picked his head back up by the ear. I admired the way his beautiful blue eyes were bloodshot and glazed over. His face held no expression. No fear, no joy, complete death. I held his bald head up to my chest and hugged it, caressing it, feeling the blood dribble down my torso. I finally loved him. He wouldn't speak. He only watched. He was left still in the state he had died in. I just loved it, my little Billy, my sweet boy. I planted a kiss on the top of his head and sat him down on my dresser. I moved back to his body. I rolled it over on the stomach, the dick on his chest rolling off and getting mashed beneath him. I used the sharp tip of the cleaver to cut strips of the meat on his back off, like a butcher would a filthy cow. I piled up a fair amount and carried the uncooked man-flesh downstairs into the kitchen. I had an old hand-cranked meat grinder that was just sitting unused and gathering dust. I placed a bowl under it and went to work making my lover into ground-beef. My cats deserved to eat the fat of the rich. I personally did not enjoy the taste. I scraped the final traces of meat that had gathered on the sides of the grinder into the bowl, and raked the meat into my cats’ food dish. I planned on disposing of the rest of his fat body later on. I went back upstairs to my beloved. I picked him up off of the dresser and sat down on my bed, admiring his features. He was much prettier like this, he reminded me of the mannequins at the wig shops. “You’re so beautiful, my love.” I say with pure love in my heart. A smile stretches across my face as I can almost imagine his lifeless eyes looking up at me. I was too involved to realize someone was behind me. I got up to finally put my clothes on, only to realize my wife, Laura, had come in. She let out a terrible scream and backed into the wall fast. She put her hands up to her face with wide eyes. I saw urine stream down her legs, soaking into her expensive shoes and onto the floor. I wiped some dry blood off of my face and slowly walked towards her, staring her in the eye. “Why?” her voice was quivering. I knew she was disturbed. Gazing around the room, she had seen Billy's head on the nightstand and his body mutilated and half slumped over on the floor. I decided to play along as if I was remorseful, getting up and hugging my wife. She was shaking hard under the pressure of my bloodied body. She didn’t hug me back, but she didn’t shove me away, either. She splayed her hands on my chest, ready to fight for her life if needed. “Jimmy,” she began to say. “Laura,” I cut her off, faking a tone of deep sorrow. “I don’t know what happened, Laura. I don’t know what fucking happened. I killed Billy, Laura.” She brought her tiny hands up under my arms and hugged me back. She rested her chin on my shoulders. “We have to turn you in, Jimmy. We need to get you help.” I nodded my head. I began to follow her towards the door. I’m not dumb-witted as she thinks I am. I am much much smarter than that. I found the heaviest object I could grasp while walking, which was a stone statue of Mother Mary. In a home as elegant and grand as mine, it wasn't hard to find something. I hit her across the head with it, almost like a hammer. She grabbed the back of her head as she fell to the ground. I enjoyed hearing her defenseless scream as she realized she was next. She hadn't even made it to the door handle. I brought the statue up in the air and struck her in the face with it, killing her. This was unplanned. This was impulsive. I had grown to like killing. I loved the rush I got from watching the life drain from a victim’s eyes. I loved Laura, she was the only woman I ever really loved. However she had to go, nonetheless. She was getting old and ugly. Just like Billy. I knelt down next to her body. Her smashed head was sitting in a pool of fresh blood. I picked it up and held it to my chest, just like I had Billy. I wished she could still see me. Her face was caved in and her eyes now resembled a blood-clot. I told her that I loved her, I kissed her bludgeoned cheek. I dropped her broken head back onto the wood floor. I took the statue I had murdered her with and dropped it on her head. It completely destroyed her skull. I heard it crunch and gurgle. I loved it. She looked so pretty, but I could make it even better. I took a pillow case from our son’s bed and pulled it over her now deformed and unrecognizable head. Her blonde hair is still peaking out of the bottom. I used Billy’s scarf to tie it off with, and used her blood to draw a brand-new face for her on the pillow case. I wanted to change her out of her ugly and soiled clothes. I got to work, removing every piece of clothing before I went to see what she had in her wardrobe. Her limp and noncompliant body was not very fun to strip. I worked hard on removing her garments, before perversion set in. She was naked, I was finally alone with her. Years had passed since I last had intercourse with her. As I said, she had gotten too ugly for me. But now, I didn’t have to look at her face. Her body was still absolutely beautiful. Her breasts were still mildly perky and her curved body kept its shape. It was certainly better than what I had had sex with earlier that day. To make it even better, she was dead. Lifeless, helpless, I could do as I wished with her with no complaints. I pulled her body close to mine, I bit my lip. I opened her legs up and put them over my shoulders, just so it would be easier to access her entrance. I had hoped there was some moisture still there. I slowly inserted my cock into her lifeless body. I was enjoying the way her body moved like a ragdoll as my hips hit the area around her vagina. Marks formed on her thighs as I dug my thumbs into her soft flesh. I continued this for a while. I forced my very alive self into the lifeless corpse that was once my beloved Laura. I looked up and I saw Billy’s head from the bed. I had left him in such a way that it felt like he was watching me fuck my wife’s body. I didn’t care. I continued, moaning more and more since I realized, at this point. This was my very own toy. Her lifeless body was mine and I could just be as rough as I wanted. So I was. I was shaking and moaning loudly as I felt myself get closer and closer to my climax, after years of not having climaxed at my wife’s expense, I finally did. I pulled out and saw how my own semen had oozed out of her body since it could not retain it. Why should it? There was no threat of pregnancy or injury. She was already dead. I caught my breath. After gathering myself, I found a dress of hers and I dressed her up, making her pretty again. I put her on her designated side of the bed. This was in such a way, where if I wanted sex, her body would just be there. Perfectly, for me and for me, only. Billy, however,I kept him as a head. I held him to my chest, occasionally getting quite aroused by him. I would defile the head that once sung songs about misery and use him as a fleshlight. I hoped I had shown him what misery truly is. It didn’t matter at this point, he had been dead for a while, now. His blood was dry, no more coming out to clean. I still had to dispose of his body. In the night, I put my clothes back on. I stuffed Billy’s body into a duffel bag that I had used for gym equipment. I loaded the bag into my car and drove off. I had disposed of his body somewhere in Lake Michigan where it would never be discovered. I climbed back into my beautiful car. I am now realizing that my life is perfect. Without flaw, I knew things were starting to look up for me. I turned the key into the ignition. The radio host was talking about various new tracks that had come out within the past few months. I was just about to shift the car into reverse so that I could back out, when I heard the host say something truly awful. He was talking about Cyr. No, no, no, no. I was imagining it. Not Cyr, anything but that. Cyr was the song that had caused me so much pain, it had pushed me to the breaking point. He was about to play Cyr. I felt sick as I heard the intro kick in. I heard Billy singing about being on the verge. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t. I had been through enough. I stepped on the gas, my car squealing as I drove into the lake. My car began filling up with water. I closed my eyes. Water went into my nose, ears, and eventually over my head. I would be with my lovers soon.