June Hart set the plate of chicken on thetable, and called her son Charlie down to dinner. She just wanted to feedhim, and get out of the house for the evening. She was becoming more andmore afraid of her son, the temper tantrums, the trouble with the policeand the violence becoming more frequent. And the people he was runningwith were frightening to look at. What went on in their heads, she couldonly imagine, and it made her feel very dark inside. He usually left withthem when they came calling, and that suited her just fine, thank you verymuch.

She knew Charlie was looking for a place of his own, and that also metwith her approval. She loved Charlie, she was his mother, for better orworse. But she was deadly afraid of him. There was a dark side of him thatseemed to surface more often, and last for longer periods. It didn't seemthat long ago when she was attending his peewee football league games,and cheering the son with the happy smile, as he sweated his way throughhealthy competition with boys like him; well adjusted, happy children whowould grow up to be semi-well adjusted adults. Charlie was 27 now, andif he was going to choose his apparent lifestyle, she would rather he didit somewhere else.

Charlie Hart sat up in his room, sharpening the butterfly knife thatslut Barb had given him for his birthday, and waited for his cunt of amother to call him down for dinner. He was a small, tightly strung dudewith intense eyes that his mother said he got from his father; a man Charliehad never met. His mom had been frank with him about how he had come tobe conceived; when she was young, she had left home to hitchhike aroundthe country, not an uncommon thing for a teen to do back in 1966. She metup with a man in Bakersfield, who plied the naive 15 year-old with boozeand drugs, and had his way with her. He asked her if she had the desireto move onto the farm he was establishing with some friends further south,toward L.A. She declined, saying she had other places she wanted to see.She told Charlie that, even as a baby, he had resembled the man who hadfathered him, and as he got older, the resemblance was getting stronger.She had never gotten the man's last name; people just didn't care aboutsuch things back then, but she gave his first name to her son; Charlie.

Finally, the bitch called upstairs to tell him his food was ready. Hedidn't know why  he hated his mom so much, but he thought he did.He felt that her bohemian, '60s attitudes had cheated him out of the existencehis friends enjoyed, where the dad brought home big bucks to the dutifulmother, and nobody wanted for much. Their own existence was a meag6r one,with bills stacked up, scarce food, and nothing in the bank. His mom alwaysmanaged to get by, but usually only through Charlie's wages being pooled.He was tired of buying her beer and grass. He just wanted to be on hisown, and let the cunt starve, for all he cared.

He came down to the kitchen table and glared across the kitchen at her.She waited, as she usually did when he was around, for him to say the firstthing. One had to weigh their words carefully with Charlie. He was volatile,and the wrong word could set off a small storm. He said, "Where you goin'tonight?" She said, "Over to the Johnsons'. Any luck with the house hunting?"

His eyes clouded over, and she thought, OOOPS, she knew she had saidsomething wrong, but she was not sure what it could have been. He crossedthe room in two quick steps, and backhanded her across the forehead withhis short but powerful arm. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!!! You can't wait to getrid of me, can you?" He swept the dinner off the table onto the floor,and went back up the stairs, too pissed off to care if he was hungry anymore,leaving his mother sobbing in the kitchen. She threw on her jacket andheaded over to Tom and Carol's without cleaning up the mess.

Back in his room, Charlie kicked over the end table next to his bed."Fucking BITCH!!" he screamed, to no one in particular. He picked up thenewspaper he had bought that morning and turned to the want ads for therental section. He read through until he found what he was looking for.It looked perfect. It said;

Cottage on ten acres, private driveway
leading to garage. 2 BR 1 BA, FP, AEK,
$400 mo. Will consider trade of work
for reduced rent. Ruth 555-9999

This was right up Charlie's alley. A place of his own, off the beatenpath, for a reasonable amount of money. Now, he could get away from hisbitch mother and live a more private life. Best of all, he could bringhis sluts home. He didn't bring them home now, not because of what hismom would say, but because his mom was a source of embarrassment to him.He couldn't kill her, but he sure as hell could move away from her.

He heard his mom slam the door. So he waited for a while to be sureshe was really gone before he went down to use the phone.

Dr. Ruth Westheimer was elated. That piece of property that she hadbeen talked into buying, against her wishes, was finally going to be worthsomething after all. The young man who had called had sounded very eagerto rent the cabin, and said he had some handyman skills that he would use,if she would consider cutting the rent. It sounded like a fair arrangementto her. She got into her car to go to the cabin to meet, what was his name?Oh yes. Charlie.

He sounded like a very nice young man.

Charlie was waiting in front of the cabin when she drove up. He wasamazed to see that it was the famous Dr. Westheimer, in person. He hadnever met a celebrity of any kind before. The second thing he noticed washow little she was. And lastly, he noticed how really ugly she was. Hewondered for the thousandth time how a woman with so little physical attractioncould know so much about sex.

"Must give a hell of a fucking knob job," he thought, and stifled achuckle.

They talked for a while, checking one another out. Everything was goingalong just fine. She liked Charlie, though something she couldn't quitefigure out gave her a slight feeling of revulsion when he looked at herwith those intense, unsettling eyes. Nevertheless, she could think of noreason not to rent to him, as he seemed to be telling the truth about hishandyman capabilities. So, she brought out the rental contract she hadso thoughtfully brought along, and Charlie eagerly signed it, telling thegood doctor that he would be moving in in about 3-4 days. She wished himhappiness in his new home, and was on her way.

All the way home, she couldn't help thinking that she had seen CharlieHart before.

Charlie was pleased. He had his own place now, and he rushed home topack his things into his truck and tell the bitch that he was gone, solong and have a shitty life, I'm outta here. She didn't even give him thesatisfaction of being home'. He threw all his clothes in one big box, andhis more personal stuff like pictures of friends, a game ball he got forscoring 3 touchdowns in a peewee football game, and a single book, HelterSkelter, which he had read many times until it was dogeared. He threw allthis shit in the back of his pickup, left a profanity-filled goodbye noteto his mother, and drove over to Barb's house, where he planned to stayuntil Saturday, which was the day that he and Ruth had agreed would bebest to move in. He didn't anticipate any objection from Barb's mom; theold cunt was so juiced most of the time that, even after a year, she stillhad to ask his name, "just one more time." Barb agreed to go up and staywith him, and that suited Charlie just fine. She was a slut, but she couldsuck the chrome off a bumper, and besides, she was fun to be with. Notmuch made Charlie laugh, but Barb always had him in stitches.

Time passed rapidly, and Saturday arrived more quickly than Charliecould have hoped for. They repacked the truck with Charlie's few belong-ings,plus some tools that Barb's dad had left behind when he made the irrevocabledecision to stick a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger, a croquet setthat Barb insisted on bringing 'cause she loved to play, and a barbecuepit that belonged to Barb's mom. They figured she prob-ably wouldn't noticeanyway, and after all, they'd need it to entertain the large volume ofguests they'd have up at "their" cabin.

After a couple of months, Ruth decided to go up and see how things weregoing with her new tenant. She had called a couple of times, and the strangeyoung man had said both times that everything was just fine. She had heardthe sound of music and laughter, and it seemed that Charlie and his girlfriendwere enjoying themselves. Funny he hadn't mentioned the girl when he rentedthe place, but she had answered the phone both times, leading her doctor'sana-lytical mind to deduce that she was living there, too. Ruth had noobjec-tion, but figured she had a right to meet the girl if she was, infact, a tenant of Ruth's. She made a decision to go up tomorrow, Saturday,and satisfy her curiosity. And you know what they say about curiosity andcats!

As Ruth drove up the windy road leading up to the cabin, she had secondthoughts about the propriety of dropping in unannounced on her tenant.She was almost ready to turn back, but whatever God there was that in-sistson making life hard on short people prevented her from doing so. So, shecontinued on her way.

As she went around the last bend and up the driveway, the scene beforeher made her stop and blink her eyes, just to make sure that what she wasseeing was real. There must have been 50 people in the yard in variousdegrees of undress. Two men in leather clothes and spiked hair were swappingspit on the porch and rubbing each other's crotches. Two more men, whohad apparently been fighting, were washing the blood off of their facesfrom the spigot by the porch. A couple was fucking in the bed of Charlie'spickup, and several onlookers were cheering them on. Ruth was horrifiedat what she was seeing, and Charlie shot out the front door and was atthe door of the car. Before she could roll the window down, Charlie yankedthe car door open and shouted into her face, "What the FUCK are you doinghere? If you EVER want to come up here, you CALL FIRST!! Turn that fuckingcar around and GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!! DO YOU HEAR ME, BITCH?!?!"

Ruth was halfway between shitting her pants and having a massive coronary,but with a great effort, she managed to get the car turned around. Shedrove, jerkily, down the road until she was out of sight of the house.Then she stopped the car, opened the driver's side door, and heaved untilshe was empty, warm vomit dripping down her chin. She knew right then thatshe had to get him to move out, but was un-sure about how to approach it.She decided to let things ride for a few days, and after things calmeddown, ask him to move.

And he had seemed such a nice young man.

Dr. Ruth Westheimer called Charlie at the beginning of the followingmonth to explain that she was not going to accept rent from him the followingmonth. Charlie attempted to talk her out of it, but she held her ground.Finally, Charlie asked her if she could come out and discuss it in person.Against her better judgment, she accepted.

Charlie hung up the phone, and said, to no one in particular, "Gottasurprise for you, you little cunt!!" He then told Barb to get her thingspacked and head back to her mom's, where he would meet her tomorrow. Heexplained that he had some loose ends to tie up. "And make sure you getall your things, hon, 'cause we ain't gonna be back here, ever." She askedhim if he wanted her to stay and help. That black look came over him again,and she rushed out of the house before his temper could rise all the wayto the surface.

After she had finished packing, Charlie watched as she drove the loadedtruck down the drive for the last time. Then, he went out to the garageto prepare for his visitor to arrive, also for the last time.

Dr. Ruth arrived at 9am the next morning. Charlie came out the doorto meet her. He seemed to be overly apologetic, and Dr. Ruth was beginningto think that perhaps she had been too hasty in wanting to evict him. Hewas doing his best to sell himself as a good tenant, much like he had intheir initial meeting. He showed her the flower beds he had planted, thefence he had mended, the fresh coat of paint he had put on the ga-rage,all the time telling her how much he loved the place and didn't want toleave. But the best thing, his pet project, was in the garage, and wouldshe like to see it? She said yes, and he led her to the side door of thestructure, opening the door for her. She stepped across the threshhold,and turned just in time to see the croquet mallet come down across herforehead. She collpsed like a sack of grain.

When she awoke, her first sensation was that her head felt like, well,like it had been hit with a blunt object. Her second realization was thatshe was unnaturally cold, and she soon correctly attributed that fact thatshe was completely undressed. The third, and most unquieting, thing thatshe was aware of was that she was tied up, with her legs splayed open andher arms stretched tight above her head. Her body would have been in aperfect X-shape, were it not for her head. She heard someone coming towardthe garage, and soon Charlie popped his head in, saw that she was awake,and shot her a big smile, which was less a smile than a death's head grin.She saw him, and was afraid; more afraid than she had ever been in herlife. She could barely get the words out, " You're not going to hurt me?Please tell me you're not going to hurt me."

"Oh no, I'm not going to hurt you. I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU, YOUSTUPID BITCH!!" screamed Charlie. "You fucked up, babe. You had to fuckthings up, didn't you? Well, nobody fucks with Charlie Hart." He kickedher hard in the ribs, and she couldn't roll up in the fetal position torelieve the pain due to the fact that she was laced so tight. She writhedin a bit of agony, and Charlie kept chanting, "Shouldn't have fucked withme, no, shouldn't have fucked with me, all the while dancing from one footto the other, like a child who needed to relieve it's bladder. And thethought came to Ruth, "He looks just like Charles Manson." She batted thataround in her head for a minute or two, Charlie Hart, Charles Manson, CharlieHart.... The realization that she was alone and trussed up like a turkeywith someone who was going to kill her, and looked like Charles Manson,paralyzed her. She let out a mournful groan.

Charlie looked down at her stout, flabby body, with the shrunken titsmade to look even smaller and less substantial with her arms stretchedout as they were. He looked down at her and said, "You disgust me. I thoughtabout just fucking you to death, but you're such a fucking troll of a woman,I can't even get my cock hard." Ruth thought of all the times she had counselledmen with impotence problems, and she thought that that memory was so in-congruouswith what she was facing, she unintentionally giggled. That dark look cameover him, and though she had never seen it before, she was wise enoughto know that it was a bad omen. "Think it's funny, huh? Think this is agame? DO YOU?!?! It's a game all right, cunt. A game that you're gonnalose. Along with your life." He kicked her again, and in almost the samespot, causing a fresh wave of pain to wash over her. She couldn't catchher breath properly, and she finally hyperventilated, then fainted.

When she awoke again, she knew not how much later, he was there still.He flashed her another of his ghastly smiles, which were more like snarls.He said, "I've been waiting for you to wake up. The game's not over yet."He was holding a croquet mallet, and there was a set of croquet balls onthe floor at his feet. He asked her, "Do you like croquet, Dr. Ruth?" Hewas sweating profusely now, and becoming more agitated as he spoke. "Ialways wondered how an ugly little cunt like you could become such an authorityon sex. I mean, who could fuck you? Must be one hard up motherfucker tobang a little ugly troll like you. But if you've done all that fucking,you must have one big cunt. So, I'm gonna try a little experiment. ThinkI can stuff one of these balls up your crack?" He took one of the croquetballs off of the floor, and tossed it up and down, like a baseball pitcheras he gets ready to throw. He took a couple of steps toward her, and shebegan to scream. Charlie knew that no one could hear her, so he wasn'tworried about the noise. He just wanted her to shut the fuck up. So, hewound up and hit her as hard as he could in the ribs, forcing the windout of her badly this time. She could feel her heart pounding as she struggledto catch the breath she wanted so badly. But she couldn't scream anymore,and Charlie was happy about that. Now, he could concentrate on his experiment.

He knelt down between her legs, and placed the croquet ball by the entranceof her vagina, and began trying to work it in. Her box was having no partof this action, and involuntarily contracted. Charlie pushed a little harder,but the ball was too big for the opening. "Needs a little lubrication,I think," mumbled Charlie, as he crossed the garage to where he had kepta case of motor oil for his truck. He opened the bottle, and dripped alittle on to the ball. He rubbed it evenly over its surface. Then, he bentto try it again. This time, he could feel a little progress, and he shovedharder and harder, until the ball was almost to the halfway point of goinginside. She tried as hard as she could to keep the invading force out,and just when it looked as if the ball would go no further, he reachedbehind him and grabbed the mallet from the ground and gave the ball a sharpwhack. It disappeared into her snatch with a loud, slurping sound. Shemanaged to cry out in pain, but Charlie didn't hear her, so pleased hewas with the success of his little experiment.

"Well now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked. " I wonder what elsewe can fit in that educated muff of yours. Aren't you curious?" She couldonly moan with the pain, and the anticipation of what might be coming next.He ran out of the garage, and she heard his feet going toward the house.

Back in the house, the now insane Charlie Hart was searching for somethingto continue his experiment with. He discounted the obvious, like the chairand the toaster, until the ideal object for cunt-stuffing caught his eye;the game football he had won long ago, in another life. Elated, he snatchedthe football up and ran back out to the garage.

As he entered again, she saw what he was holding, and detected whathe had in mind to do with it. That thought was enough to cause her to faintagain. "Fuck it. She don't need to be awake no more," thought Charlie.He was loving the game he had created, and he was going to play it out.Learning from his previous try with the croquet ball, he greased the footballvery liberally with the oil before attempting penetration. He put one ofthe pointed ends of the football next to the opening of her snatch, andbegan pounding away with the mallet. He worked in a frenzied manner, doinghis best to bury that fucking football up her snatch, pounding and pounding,how many strokes he couldn't even count. Finally, exhausted, he stopped.He struggled to catch his breath as sweat poured down his body from theexertion. He could see that he had pushed the ball only a quarter of theway into her crack, and as any craftsman will tell you, the only solutionwas to get a bigger hammer. He went out behind the building, and came backin with the 15 pound sledge he used for breaking big rocks into littleones. Then he straddled her waist with his feet, and brought the hammerback over the top of his head. Dr. Ruth woke up just as the hammer reachedit's farthest arc, which left it about 3 inches from her forehead. Thenshe screamed as he brought it back around with all the force he could muster.

In a split second, there was a sharp cracking sound, as the footballpounded its way into Ruth's insides, displacing the croquet ball and severalorgans that depended upon stability for survival. The heart was pushedup against the ribcage, bursting it. The good doctor died instantly. Andan urge that Charlie couldn't explain caused him to dip his fingers inthe fast growing puddle of blood and write a message on the wall;


Los Angeles
March 24

A man killed in a shootout with police yesterday has been identifiedas Charles P. Hart, 27. Hart was the leading suspect in the brutal murderof renowned sex therapist Dr. Ruth Westheimer, and had been sought forquestioning. His companion, Barbara Rodgers, was slightly injured in thegun battle. Although she claims no knowledge of the murder, investigatorshave determined that she was living with Hart at the time of the murder.

She will be charged with first degree murder.