\..  What makes for a serial killer? Maybe we have part of the answer here. Someone has sent Moses a very frightening letter with an even more frightening ultimatum attached.

Some of the following letter is written in phonemic dialect. Try sounding the words out. An apostrophe (') means a letter has been left out. If it's at the beginning of a word, it's likely to be an initial 'H'; for example, 'e is he. The 'G' in 'ing' is often replaced by an apostrophe, as 'laughin' for 'laughing'.

I have recently been introduced to your stories through a magazine an ex-lover of mine used to get -- Katharsis. He knew it was you who wrote the stories, so I'm leaving this letter on your desk. You don't know me. But I know you. And I'm watching. So send my letter on to Katharsis and tell them to publish it -- for you.

My ex-lover is dead now. My lovers always die. You see, Moses, I kill them.

Anyway, after reading some of your stories which my erstwhile lover had in his possession, I felt that I really must write to you and tell you about myself, and what turns me ON sexually.

The first time that I took another man's life was actually accidental. I was camping by a large, beautiful lake in an unspoiled area of -- never mind where, that's not important. It all happened seven years ago, although I remember it like it was only yesterday.

I was on summer vacation from my job as a High School teacher, and as usual I had taken my 4X4 into the wilderness. This was my third visit to this particular spot. The side of the lake I had chosen was three miles from the nearest house and fifteen miles from the road.

I had never seen another soul during my camping trips here, other than the farmer -- his was the nearest house, and that's where I'd stop to stock up on fresh provisions. In exchange for buying eggs, butter, cheese, farm baked bread and milk from the old man, I was allowed to camp on this deserted part of his land for nothing.

The setting is idyllic and I can enjoy my solitude in peace -- just fishing, and reading, and thinking for six whole weeks.

During the second week, this particular year, I had driven into the local town, some twenty five miles away, to get some things I couldn't get at the farm. The trusty 4X4, a Bronco, was loaded up with kerosene, canned goods, batteries, flour, you name it -- all the good things in life that make camping a little more civilized than without them.

I called into a small bar on the way out of town. I always keep some beer in the small kerosene refrigerator which is always with me on these trips; even so, I do enjoy a fresh draft beer.

After the beer and feeling out the place, it was time to go. When I came out into the sunshine, I found a young man (late teens or early twenties) paying special interest to the contents of my vehicle.

The bar's squeaky front door alerted him and he was looking at me as I walked up to my Bronco.

"Hi," he opened. As I acknowledged his greeting with a brief nod, he continued "Seen yer around afore. You'n stayin' ole Jesse Grimble's place, ain't yer?"

I was a little taken aback -- I guess because I had never seen anyone else around, I assumed nobody knew I was there -- except for the old farmer. And he didn't seem the type to go gossiping.

I decided to hear the young man out.

"'E's me uncle, ole Jess," the young man offered -- by way of an explanation, I expect. "'E tole me you wus campin' by the big lake, on the side 'e don't farm no more. Use t' go fishin' there meself, when I wus a kid, that is, but it's too far to get to wi'out a 'orse, an' me dad got rid of'em all when we moved inta town four years back."

I leaned against the 4X4, listening to the young man's rather colorful, rustic language, trying to keep a grinn off my face. As I sort of anticipated, this made the young man nervous and, as was to be expected, he tried to cover this up by prattling on.

"Can I come up an' see yer, sometime?" he said. Quickly he added "I won't be no trouble -- 'onest. I can 'elp yer fish, an' that..."

The young man's voice faded. His look became pleading as he desperately waited for my reply. Any reply. My silence was destroying his confidence.

I tried to sound as tough as possible --"I come up here to get away from people. All people. Do you understand? I like to be alone, it suits me for my vacation. I don't need visitors!"

I thought the young man would cry. His face dropped and he spun on his heels and ran down the dusty street as though he was being chased by a herd of wild buffalo. I grinned to myself, hopped in the 4X4 and started her up.

I was still chuckling to myself when I reached the farm almost an hour later. The old man, Jesse, had prepared my order but I had to wait a few moments as his wife was just about to take the newly baked bread out of the oven.

Jesse offered me a cold beer, which I gratefully accepted. While we sat on the porch savoring the taste of cold beer augmented by the smell of fresh baked bread, I told Jesse what had happened that afternoon.

The old man was not prone to mirth, I had learned, but the incident seemed to amuse him and he roared with laughter. He told me that the young man's name was Ted. Ted was Jesse's sister Beth's son. He was nineteen and worked in his father's gas station. Ted's father had sold his own farm and moved into town as he felt that the days of the independent farmer were numbered.

Jesse's wife brought the bread out, wrapped in white paper. It was still hot to the touch. I thanked her, paid for it, then left.

I waved goodbye to the Grimbles as I negotiated' the narrow, rocky trail, once used only by horsemen, towards the lake and my campsite. I stowed the provisions, lit a fire and prepared supper.

The sun set around eight thirty and before ten o'clock I was fast asleep in my tent.

I don't know what aroused me -- some unusual noise, I guess. But I awoke with a start. Somebody was prowling around my camp. Slowly and quietly I wriggled out of my sleeping bag and reached over for the hunting knife I keep nearby. I peeked through the tent flap and saw someone raking about in the things I had left lying outside. -- Security had never seemed to be any problem, before, so anything that wouldn't be ruined if it should rain tended to get left outside.

I quickly put on a pair of cotton overalls and slipped out of the tent, creeping up behind the prowler. I was almost on top of him when he must have sensed my presence. He spun around and saw me. We both froze for an instant, and then I rammed into him with my left shoulder, making sure I had my knife securely grasped in my right hand.

I caught the prowler by surprise and he landed, winded, onto the sandy ground.

"It's all right, I ain't steelin' nothin'. 'Onest!".

I recognized the voice immediately -- it was Ted, the young guy who had tried to strike up a friendship outside the bar.

I relaxed, just a little, and reached into my overalls' pocket for a small flashlight. I kept the knife ready but Ted didn't move. I shone the light into his face. He blinked, then smiled rather sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said "I di'n't mean no 'arm. Just wanned ter see 'ow yer camped up 'ere -- thas all."

I was a little annoyed, but more relieved that there seemed no danger. I was also wide awake now -- after the excitement. So I lit the kerosene lamps and threw some kindling and a log on the coals. I took a couple of beers from the fridge and threw one to Ted, still lying sprawled on the ground where I had dropped him.

His tentative smile broadened into a grin and he jumped up.

The evening was cool under the cloudless sky, yet Ted wore only shorts and a tank top. I asked him how he had gotten here and he told me that he had run. He said running was his only hobby and he loved to run in the wilderness for hours on end, losing himself, he said. Not in those words, of course -- I translate.

He asked if he could remove his shoes and socks and wade in the lake. I told him 'OK.'

Soon he pulled off his top and shorts and threw them onto his shoes on the lakeside and he was frolicking, bare assed naked, in the cold water.

I finished my beer and started another. The can was almost empty before Ted came running out of the lake, soaking wet, and flopped down next to me on a blanket I had placed by the fire. He picked up his own beer and downed the contents in a single gulp.

I watched this nineteen year old country boy. There was something about him which aroused me.

Ted sat up and squatted in front of me, his back to the fire. He grinned, and impish grin. He had a beautiful grin, and smile, he had a happy face. "Yer don't s'pose I cud stay ther night, cud I?"

The possibilities raced through my mind. I was tempted. But then, this was a country boy. He probably fucked all the local girls in the fields -- after all, he was a good looking young man, no question about that. I couldn't imagine him enjoying any physical activities with a middle aged High School teacher.

I started to protest, just a little. I explained that I had only one small tent with one sleeping bag. Some evil gremlin made me admit that it was a double sleeping bag -- and that to sleep outside would be out since Ted had only his running clothes and the temperature would drop several more degrees before morning.

Ted seemed to anticipate my objections. He watched me intently, breaking down the little resolve I had with his smile, as he begged me to let him stay overnight. -- He would be no trouble and didn't mind sharing my sleeping bag in the least.

To be very honest, it wasn't too hard to agree, even though I was here for solitude. The fact that his pleas were accompanied by a gentle stroking of my thighs with his fingernails, probably helped.

I turned out the lights and I led Ted into the tent with my flashlight. The young man was carrying his clothes -- he was still naked.

I closed and laced the flap and turned to find that Ted was already lying in the sleeping bag. Under the overalls, as usual at night, I only on shorts. I peeled off the overalls in the dark and joined Ted in the sleeping bag.

Well, what happened after that can best be described as incredible sex. I can't remember the details, or the sequence of events, but I can remember that I had never been so fully satisfied sexually before. This country boy knew how to make his body speak, and my body reply. Ted's talents were unbelievable and we eventually drifted off to an exhausted sleep just as the sun was peeping over the mountain top.

Needless to say, my vow of solitude was broken and Ted began to spend his free time, and every night, at my camp. It was pure heaven for me, even though I did very little reading after that, and the only thinking I managed was about Ted. Perhaps I became too attached to this young man. Whatever, the four remaining weeks of my vacation gave me some of the happiest times of my entire life. And I didn't want it to end -- but end it must!

Ted had asked me to keep our relationship secret. This suited me well, too.

On the next to last afternoon of my stay by the lake, Ted arrived at lunchtime. I was making energetic love to the athletic Ted after a fun filled hour of skinny dipping. Ted lay on his back with his legs bent. This allowed me to kiss and suck his beautiful feet while our bodies undulated in rhythm. My tongue played between Ted's long, straight toes, a real turn on for us both, when I thought I felt him tense, then relax.

I was approaching orgasm and so I let Ted's foot free and lay down on him, locking our mouths in a kiss. My orgasm gushed against his hard belly. But there was no reaction.

That was strange. Ted was very reactive and appreciative. It was then I felt that warm stickiness between our bodies. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and was shocked to see Ted's chest and belly covered in blood.

I was scared, and confused. I pissed all over Ted's belly and let go a burbling, wet fart as I temporarily lost control.

As my head cleared a little I saw a knife in Ted's lifeless hand. To this day I don't know what happened.

My pride, and ego, would like to think that Ted had committed suicide at the thought of losing me. Realistically, though, this isn't too likely.

I wonder, had Ted tried to murder me, or was he going to threaten me, rob me at knife point? And his scheme went wrong, somehow? Or was Ted horsing around with the knife and it accidentally impaled his heart?

I tend to hold out the accident theory, nowadays. As I said at the opening, the first time that I took another man's life it was actually accidental.

I didn't have these thoughts at the time, of course. I was frightened. All I knew was there was a gaping wound in Ted's broad, young chest from which the blood flow was only just now slowing, and my new found lover was very dead.

Then something odd happened. I became aroused again. My cock got hard again, still pressed hard against Ted's belly -- much softer now that he was dead.

I began to lick Ted's inert face. I stuck my tongue into his mouth and savored the metallic taste of blood. My actions became more aggressive, more passionate. I lifted Ted's legs onto my shoulders and shoved in, pumping in and out of his pliant body.

I was oblivious to the blood which smeared us both. I ignored the urine which soaked the blanket, or his feces trying to bubble out and was now lubricating my "lovemaking." I just went on and on for what seemed hours but was more likely a few minutes.

When my orgasm finally came, it was the most intense that I had ever felt. And this was despite the fact that it was my fourth or fifth climax that day. The semen just kept spurting and spurting into Ted's rectum.

Spent now, I lowered Ted's legs and lay, panting, on top of his still warm corpse. I dozed then awoke to find Ted's body felt icy cold under my own warmth.

The sun was sinking below the tall mountains and the shadows grew long as I set about cleaning up the camp. Then I dragged Ted's body to the lake and lay him in the shallow, rippling water while I splashed around, washing the blood from my own body.

I next took the blanket we'd made love on so many times, along with the rubber groundsheet that was under it, and washed them both in the lake. The groundsheet had stopped any blood seeping into the sandy soil, so there wasn't anything to clean up there.

The late afternoon breeze started blowing up waves and this helped to disperse the blood. Soon the blanket, groundsheet, Ted and I were all spotless.

I took a syringe from my kit and pumped cool lake water into Ted's anus to clear out his rectum. After five or six enemas only clear water came out. -- I didn't want any more shit messing up my Bronco when I took Ted to town. At least, that is what I told myself at the time.

I did the same thing with his throat, rinsing clean water to dispose of the bile and vomit which he had spit up as his life slipped away.

I dragged the corpse back to the camp and laid Ted on a rubber groundsheet. I sealed up the knife wound in his chest with surgical tape. Then I laid him gently on top of the sleeping bag which we had shared every night since he first came to my camp.

Now I can recall the events of that afternoon objectively. I must admit, though, that at the time my normal logic was somewhat impaired and my thinking process followed a path quite different from the regular, organized route those who know me would expect.

I prepared a light dinner and thought while I ate. More and more I found my mind drifting away from the course of taking Ted's corpse to the sheriff and reporting the accident, towards just burying the young man somewhere and taking off. Nobody knew that he had been visiting my camp, not even his uncle. At that time, I was certain he didn't know.

I went into the tent and looked down at the handsome young body which had been my lover. I lay next to him and started to caress the smooth, cold skin. Once again I became aroused. I let my tongue explore Ted's every orifice and crack. I sucked his soft penis -- rigor mortis still hadn't set in. I licked his armpits, between his fingers and toes. I forced my tongue into his mouth, which was slightly agape after I had flushed out his gullet. Finally. I lay Ted face down and forced my fingers, and tongue, into his anus.

Passion overcame me again and soon I mounted the corpse and pumped and pumped until my seed erupted once more into my "lover." Sometime around then I realized what I was doing. The word NECROPHILIA sprung to my mind as the last spasms of my climax subsided and it dawned on me that I enjoyed making love to this corpse.

If there was ever a major turning point in anybody's life, that was mine. From that moment on, my whole motivation and attitude changed. Not publicly, you understand. No, just in private. I knew what I would do. It was Ted who had shown me.

I slept with Ted, who was now icy cold and very stiff, at my side. Several times during the night I awoke with an erection and with a little help from the Crisco jar was able to satisfy my lust inside Ted's "love cavern."

One time I tried putting my stiff member into his throat but his jaw was locked and the opening wasn't wide enough to allow my blood filled member into his mouth. -- I even got scratched on Ted's teeth in the attempt.

The following morning I wrapped Ted's body in the groundsheet and put him in the back of the Bronco. After breakfast I drove up into the foothills until I reached a small clearing I had first noticed two years before.

The ground was sandy and it took me less than thirty minutes to dig a four feet deep grave. I lay Ted's body on the damp sandy bottom of the grave, but before I could cover him I had to make love to this Adonis one final time.

After I came inside Ted for the very last time, I jumped out of his grave and started filling it in. My body was soaked in sweat by the time I had covered the grave with rocks and swept the area with birch branches. Now there was no sign of any activity whatsoever and I was confident that Ted's resting place would forever remain undetected.

I loaded the tools into the 4X4 and returned to the campsite for a last check. Satisfied that everything was in order, I called by the farm to bid my farewell to Jesse Grimble, and his wife, and I was on my way.

It was amazing, really, that I had managed to maintain my outward appearances under such extreme circumstances. I can only explain that it was my fate to become what I am now. My psyche reacted so naturally, so nonchalantly, to the sudden death of my young lover that, somewhere deep within me, I just knew that I would kill again.

Even as I drove along the straight highway on my way home, my mind kept reliving the moment of Ted's death as I made love to him. It seemed that my erection was never going to go down and I started speculating how I could have such ecstasy again.

While I was planning another vacation in my mind, this time just a long weekend, I wondered where I could find my next lover victim. I had already decided that I couldn't wait until the next school vacation.

This was another major change for me. Until then I had always planned my vacations well in advance. I enjoyed the planning and organizing almost as much as the vacation itself and was happy to take one long break each year. Sure, I also went away a couple of other times during the year, but the summer vacation was my great enjoyment.

To my surprise, the opportunity to kill again offered itself even before this particular vacation was over. I had just passed through a small town on the highway and was driving at about sixty miles an hour when I saw a figure staggering around maybe two hundred yards ahead.

I slowed, more in curiosity than anything else, and pulled up twenty yards or so ahead of the man. I guessed that he was drunk and assumed that he was one of the local ranch hands on his way back to work. I saw no harm in offering him a ride up the road.

I got out and said "Hello." He was tall, slim and well tanned, but he didn't look like a worker now I saw him up close. His face was scratched and I noticed his clothes were torn. He had obviously been in a fight. The guy leaned against the side of the Bronco, breathing heavily.

"Thanks, pal" he gasped. "Sure is a hell of a town, there." then he added quickly, "Hope you're not a local." I suppose he suddenly thought that he was in for another fight.

The young man told me that his name was David. He was driving across the country with three friends and they had had an argument which led to a fight. David didn't stand a chance against the other three and they threw him out, the other side of town, leaving him unconscious at the side of the road.

When he came to, David said, he found himself being thrown into the back of a pick-up by a Deputy. To cut a long story short, David had no money so the sheriff threw him out of town, kicking him in the ass with his highly polished boots, just to make a point.

Stony broke, David was on the verge of despair. What the sheriff had taken to be a drunk's stagger was actually the result of the two beatings and the lack of food for a couple of days.

I suggested that we put a little more distance between this inhospitable town and ourselves. I gave David some sandwiches I had packed. He washed them down with some ice cold beer.

I drove for about another ten miles. David told me that he was a college drop out, disowned by his family, and had got in with a bad crowd in California. He and his erstwhile friends were running drugs when the argument started. They had run drugs several times before. But this time everyone was in a bad mood and very suspicious.

From what David was saying, it occurred to me that the argument was a set up. Clearly that thought had crossed David's mind too.

It was late afternoon by now and I told David that we'd stop for the night. I pretended not to know the area and so instead of trying to find a motel I said we'd just camp off the road somewhere.

Of course, David was welcome to join me but I had only one tent and one sleeping bag.

David man accepted the sleeping arrangements with a smile, followed by his gentle touch on my shoulder. He was showing me that even though he had no money, he had a way to repay my charity. Little did he know how much he would be expected to give!!

I saw a turn off that I recognized. It led up a steep trail which ran parallel with the highway for about two miles, always climbing higher, until it reached a plateau. Here a mountain brook trickled out of the side of the mountain down to a miniature tarn, before spilling over a small waterfall right alongside the main road.

Here I had everything I needed for my special plans for David: a sheltered campsite which couldn't be observed from the highway, a long approach to give ample warning of visitors and, the prime necessity for any camp site, fresh, clean water.

feigned delighted surprise when I "found" the plateau, and ran around like a small boy, excitedly pointing out the beauty of the place to David.

He seemed genuinely entranced with the spot, too, and within the hour we had pitched the tent, lit a fire and washed away the grime of travel. David was stripped to his shorts standing in the pool while I bathed his wounds.

My hand "accidentally" brushed against his bulging crotch several times and as he gasped from the stinging sensation brought on by the antiseptic from my first aid kit, he held onto my shoulders with his soft hands.

It was a surprisingly warm evening and we lay side by side watching the setting sun finally disappear to give way to the brilliance of stars on a moonless night. A warm breeze drifted up from the plains and, although we both wore only shorts, neither of us made any move to get up and dress.

I was formulating a plan in my head when David rolled over, closer to me, and leaned up on his elbows.

"You know, you saved my life back there, pal. I owe you one. That old Sheriff bastard didn't think I was going to get far and I'm sure that he'll be looking for me after it gets dark. I reckon he was in with my mates, probably some sort of security as we passed through his territory. If you hadn't picked me up, well I think I'd be dead before morning."

David smiled as he spoke -- a smile I returned. David's hands roamed along my bare thigh, his gaze steady, waiting for my reaction. I was still lying on my back and when David's hands touched my stiffening member I closed my eyes and sighed.

That was all the sign that David required to get into his act fully. I lay back and reveled in the ecstasy of his tongue as he bathed my entire body, exploring every crack and hole, just as I had done earlier with Ted.

Was that only yesterday? I remember thinking? David removed my shorts with his teeth and tossed them to my feet. He slid up against me until his face was over me. He brought his knees up so that they were on each side of my hips, and bent forward for a kiss. As our lips met for the first time, David maneuvered my throbbing hard-on so that it pressed against his anus. With a grunt, the young man pressed down, impaling himself on my rigid phallus.

I continued to lay, almost inert, and let the young man do all the work. He didn't seem to mind at all and he lifted his hips up until my cock head slipped out then back down until his ass was squashed against my thighs.

For several erotic minutes I was able to resist the urge to ejaculate into David, but the tremendous sexual pressure exerted on me by my own thoughts were overwhelming and with a roar I spurted while David sensuously nibbled my tongue.

At no time had I touched David's body. I had simply laid there and let him fuck himself on me. Yet as he sat back on his haunches I saw that pre-orgasmic smegma was seeping from his cock head.

David slipped back down my body and licked my penis perfectly clean of the "soil" from his rectum.

After he had finished, David asked me if he had pleased me. I told him that he had, very much, and this seemed genuinely to make him happy. He began promising more and better lovemaking if I would take him with me, take him home. He vowed that I would never have a better lover -- he just wanted the chance to prove it to me.

I laughed, inside as well as out, and pretended to agree, albeit with reservations. This made David ecstatic and in seconds his hyperactive mouth was bringing my cock back to erection.

I had already decided how I would kill him. I would use a knife, stabbing the young man through the heart. I would copy the way that Ted had died -- only this time it would be deliberate.

It was dark when we both slipped into the sleeping bag after making love on the blanket outside the tent several times since dinner. I had earlier lit a kerosene lamp and placed it next to the sleeping bag. David snuggled up to me and I rolled him onto his back and easily entered him again. As with Ted, I lifted the young man's legs to my shoulders, then took his right foot and began playing along the sole with my tongue.

David squirmed a little as my tongue played a tattoo on his sensitive foot. This heightened the sensation on my own erection which was slowly pumping in and out of his body.

I planned to strike at the moment of my climax. But first I would try to bring David to an orgasm immediately before -- if at all possible at the very moment that I ejaculated. I paced myself, keeping a gentle, rhythmic action going as my tongue darted around David's wriggling toes and my hand masturbated his very ample penis.

The young man started whimpering, a low, satisfied sound which reminded me of a cat purring. I nibbled at his toes and pumped his cock harder and faster while I increased the pace I was fucking him.

The timing was perfect. He ejaculated over my left hand, the semen dripping down into his soft, blond pubic hair, at the very moment that I shot deeply into him. With my right hand I groped for the knife I had previously hidden under the groundsheet.

I bit deeply into David's little toe. He gasped in surprise and I lunged down with the knife, thrusting it exactly on target.

David gurgled, he looked at me in surprise and fear -- a mixture of emotions which was totally confusing to him. His body twitched and milked the last of my "seed" as his life slipped painfully away.

I found a knew driving force and resumed my pumping action, more violently than before. I kissed the dying young man, savoring the taste of his blood as it oozed into his mouth.

He was weakening. Surprisingly, he had made no attempt to fight me off when the blade had struck. His eyes opened again. He looked at me, his eyes pleaded. But it was too late, even if I had wanted to do something to save him.

David's plaintive look aroused me more. I started biting his feet, harder, drawing blood, while my hard cock battered his guts.

I don't exactly know when he died, just that after I had climaxed again and lay on him, the warm, sticky blood soaking us both and he was no longer breathing. I kissed the corpse. I pull out of him with a plop and slipped down his lifeless body.

I licked the blood from his belly, let my tongue slide down to his softened penis -- now covered with a gory mixture of blood and semen.

I took David's penis into my mouth and sucked the last drops of "man-juice" from deep inside him. I licked up all of the semen and blood from around his genitals until the area was spotlessly clean. Then I rolled onto him and slid around in the blood while I kissed his unmoving lips, chewed at his tongue and explored his vacant mouth with my own tongue. I entered him again immediately my erection returned, and I fucked and fucked and fucked his dead ass until I came once more.

Remembering the problem I had with Ted, I pried David's mouth open so that when rigor mortis set in I could still fuck his throat. Then I snuggled up beside my new corpse and drifted off to a satisfied sleep.

I awoke with an erection. This was now "normal." I decided to fuck David again. I did so, using his own shit, now cold, as the only lubricant. Even though he was dead, and stiff, his anus was still pliant and flexible. It is a very fulfilling experience -- you should try it.

I climaxed and decided to urinate. I pushed my softening member into David's gaping mouth and into his throat so that I had to squeeze my balls into his mouth. Then I let go a stream of warm, strong early morning urine which poured out the sides of his mouth, since he couldn't swallow and only some of it could get down his throat.

I dragged David's body to the pool and washed us both off. I didn't bother with internal cleanliness for David, as I had with Ted, because I would only use him one more time and then bury him forever.

I washed the sleeping bag and groundsheet, and the knife and put them all into the 4X4. David's body was still lying in the pool, his head resting on the rocky side where the water was lapping around his long blond hair.

I needed to shit and so I did it into the corpse's open mouth. Then I fucked his throat, ramming the shit deep into his throat. -- That was another resounding new experience for me.

After I had climaxed yet again, I washed myself off and got to work digging David's grave -- on the side of the plateau facing up was a clump of bushes. I dug a hole four feet all around, and put David into it, doubling him over to make him fit, nearly having to break him in two, but the rigor mortis was starting to subside by now, so he did flex some.

I dropped his head in first, then bent his legs back so that his feet were touching his shoulders. He was still quite stiff and it took a lot of effort to get him folded up so that he fitted in.

Of course, the exertion, and the sight of David's tight young ass pointing right up at me, caused me to become aroused and I had no choice but to satisfy my needs then and there.

I filled in the hole and replanted some of the bushes over David's grave. I broke camp and within six hours I was drawing up outside my cabin two miles out of my home town. I unloaded the Bronco, put all my gear where it belonged, and swallowed two quick, cold beers before even thinking about dinner.

As I said before, that was seven years ago. Since then I have perfected the art of taking life at the moment of simultaneous orgasm. After a few close calls, resistance, lingering death and that sort of thing, I have concluded that the ideal method of dispatch for my purposes is a .38 pistol. I conceal it near the love bed, with only one bullet. I then, usually, fire the shot through the heart at the exact instant of ultimate passion.

When I say ultimate, this is what I mean. There is no other sensation in the world which surpasses the feeling of power as you generate an orgasm in your mate, in absolute synchronism with your own, then at that very moment, you take his life. It is fantastic. I love to wallow in the blood, the shit, and the piss as my lover drifts into death.

Sometimes the shot is instantly fatal, but usually it is several minutes, occasionally it can be hours, before life slips completely away.

There is no shortage of potential lover victims. Wherever I travel I meet hitch hikers, campers, beach bums, hustlers, you name it. The world is full of eager young men who are willing to give their bodies in exchange for a meal, some affection, and maybe a little money. All I do is assure myself that he won't be easily missed, and that he can in no way be connected to me. I sometimes have to take my companions across the state line to be certain. Often I will sleep with a lover victim for a few weeks before I eventually decide to kill him.

And, when I travel outside the U.S., I might even strike up an affair with someone who will be missed -- provided, of course, that I can't be connected with him in any way. That's what I did with your friend. There's no way he and I were ever seen together -- he thought it I was being careful to protect him. Little did he know!

I am deeply attached to my lovers. The more sensual they are, the greater the satisfaction they give me, the more intense is my feeling of accomplishment I enjoy from our final act of love making. I even keep some of my lovers warm for a few days in an electrically heated sleeping blanket -- until they start to decompose. There is added sensation from making love to a warm corpse, just as the act immediately after death is the most fulfilling. I can very strongly recommend you try it. I couldn't live without my own, special way of treating my lovers.

As with all activities in the pursuit of physical satisfaction, I have been able to expand. A couple of years after Ted and David I accidentally discovered the epicurean delights of human flesh -- yet another fortuitous accident.

I had shot my lover, a twenty year old junkie whom I had picked up in a roadside truck stop toilets -- literally picked up, he was unconscious when I found him.

I propped him up near the camp fire to keep him warm -- I was learning the inconvenience of allowing the corpse to stiffen to quickly ... terrible loss of potential satisfaction.

Well, while I was bathing in the stream next to camp, the body must have slipped and when I returned I found that his shoulder and arm were smoking away in the fire. I pulled him out and as I did so a piece of burned flesh fell away.

Whatever is the force which has driven me since Ted, acted again and I picked up the meat, from the young man's shoulder, and sniffed at it. Tentatively I licked at the sweet smelling flesh, then tasted it. It tasted like pork, but a little sweeter and more delicate.

Before long I was cooking the rest of the man's arm which I had for dinner, breakfast and in sandwiches for the homeward trip the following day.

I have many stories to tell about my experiences over the past seven years. There are so many wonderful, exciting, arousing things you can do to, and with, a corpse that even the most disgusting human pig would balk at when alive, believe me I remained a respected member of the community in my small town until I retired, early, a couple years ago. It was generally believed that I was overqualified to be a mere High School teacher, actually I became Principal a couple years before taking early retirement.

I retired early only because there were some accusations against other bachelor teachers. I wasn't associated with them, and I never had anything to do with any of the boys in my schools. But an investigation might have dug up something more "unconventional" than even homosexuality and pederasty! I avoided any hint of scandal, getting my doctor to help me prove a medical disability we cooked up.

I have written enough for this letter. Understandably, I haven't told you my name or address. And I'm pretty sure you won't be able to recognize me. I'm not a teacher any more, and there are literally tens of thousands of retired teachers coming and going to the Philippines every month or so, so that won't give you a clue.

I'll be able to get back at you if you feel "duty bound" to report me to the authorities for what I have done -- for what I DO. Besides, you know these Philippine cops -- give them a couple hundred dollars U.S. and you can do anything. You know that, I know that. And I have more money to spend than you do, in case you think you can buy protection.

I shall get hold of another copy of that magazine soon. I get a bootleg copy from a local distributor, so I'm not on their mailing list. If you can get my letter published, I shall write again, with more stories of my exploits over the past seven years. If you don't, I might make you the star of my next story.

Until then ... Forever,

THE CAMPER
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