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  Mr. Shyguy
  By Master Drake

 Alan Redderick, all his life had been considered a bit on the husky side, and has
 had a problem with girls. He's shy. Even into adult hood he's been shy. In fact, he is
 a bit of a geek. He's 28 years old and single with no friends. He is still a virgin.
  He lives by himself in a cheap apartment. He lives like a pig, and spends a good deal
 of his time downloading BDSM and tranny porn off the net. He keeps a smelly old towel
 by his computer to use as a spooge rag; he hates getting sperm all over his hands.
 
  Today he has an interview, at a big computer company, to apply for a job as a network
 manager. He's really nervous. He drank his usual cup of joe, and ate his usual bagel
 with cream cheese for breakfast. He shitted, showered, shaved, brushed his teeth. 
 Then he left his small shitty apartment after putting on his incredibly cheap business
 suit. In the hallway he passed the manager's wife, Esmerelda. Esmerelda is in her early
 40's and managed to keep her girlish figure. She has long brown hair, dark eyes, and
 she's built like a goddess. She dresses rather slutty, and has a thing for Alan. She tries
 to subtlely hit on Alan alot.
   "Hey Alan. Big day today, huh?" she said, while trying to expose some cleavage to him.
   He nervously spoke up, but his face looking away at the wall. "Uh, hey M-mrs. Harold."
 She then tried harder and touched his face, trying to point his eyes towards her. Her
 touch sent a shiver down his spine.
   "Look at me, 'hon. If you expect to get anywhere in this world, you've gotta be able
 to communicate properly. Remember that. That employer aint gonna hire you, if you
 don't look 'em in the face." She rubbed against his shoulder a bit. His palms began to
 become sweaty, and beads of perspiration began to form at his forehead.
   "Uh-thanks...I gotta go, I'll be late." he said as he ran off sweating. Mrs. Harold's
 attempts to hit on him made his anxieties worse.

   He drove to the interview in his blue Honda Civic. On the way he muttered to himself.
 "Keep your cool. Just-just be yourself. Tell them what they need to kno-know. It'll be ok."
 He muttered this advice that he had got from one of those crappy self help pamphlets that
 he had read while at the doctor's office one time. He's been to a couple psychologists from
 time to time to help him with his social anxieties, and neurotic perversions. 
  "FUCK! It is not going to be ok!!! FUCK!" he then yelled. But then came back and calmed
 himself. "It will be ok, don't freak out..."

   Once at the building and in the hallways he walked slowly down to the interviewer's office
 He passed by many people, and as he passed them, wild awful thoughts filled his head. He
 envisioned them laughing at him. He envisioned that they were making fun of his weight, the
 way he lived, how much of a pervert he was. He snapped himself out of it saying, "no, no
 that's ridiculous." But, the thoughts still flowed. As he got closer and closer to the
 office he became more and more nervous. His face dripping with sweat.
   Finally he reached the office. He grabbed the knob and began to turn it. Slowly he creaked
 the door open, clinching his teeth and eyes shut. Slowly he reopened his eyes.
   "Mr. Redderick, good to see you made it. Now take a seat," said a older woman, hefty woman
 with graying hair and thick glasses. He took his seat. "Now Mr. Redderick, why do you want to
 work for us?"
   She wasn't really his type at all, but for some reason he felt strangely attracted. Then 
 a naughty thought filled his head, and he blurted out "You."
   "Wha-what is that?" she asked.
   He quickly composed himself and said, "Uh, I mean I like the way your company..." and came up
 with some crappy sentimental phrase about how they are a great company and work like a family,
 putting emphasis on the individual's happiness, and how they can work for the good of the whole
 company. The interviewer wasn't at all impressed.
   She then went on to ask more questions, and all this time thoughts filled his
 head. He struggled to get them out. Thoughts about have wild sex witht the interviewer, and
 thoughts about that the interviewer knew what he was thinking and thought badly of him. His
 penis began to become stiff and he wished it wouldn't.
   Then he blurted out, "Stopping thinking of me like that. I'm not all that bad."
   "Huh, what was that? All like what?" she inquired, becoming a bit annoyed.
   "You know what I mean. I can tell it just by the way you look at me."
   He got up and walked out. "I don't need this," he said as he slammed the door.
   He ran back to his car sweating like crazy. Once in his car he reached in his glove 
 compartment and pulled out a bottle of expired anxiety pills. He popped a couple in his
 mouth. 
   During the drive home he kept one hand on the wheel, and the other down his pants 
 masturbating; he couldn't get his mind off the interviewer.

   Once at his apartment he put his key in the lock and unlocked his door. Then he quickly
 opened the door, in a hurry to take a shower and try and forget what happened. But, to 
 his surprise his apartment was clean. "Someone broke in? Or am I in the wrong apartment."
 He searched his apartment, everything was clean: the kitchen, the computer area, the 
 bathroom. Then he came upon his bedroom. He slowly opened the door.
   Then he saw laying on his bed was...Esmerelda stretched out naked.
   "Bill is out attending his mom's funeral, so I'm here alone. So I cleaned your apartment."
   Alan didn't know what to think and stood frozen in the doorway. "Get that job?" Alan shook
 his head no. "Oh that's a shame. Well let me let you feel better."
   She got up off the bed and, using her teeth, unzipped Alan's pants. Alan looked down at her
 as she reached in and pulled out his, now totally stiff, penis. She stuck it in her mouth.
   Alan now went wild, overcome with passion. He grabbed the back of her head and shoved it
 closer into his lap, cramming his dick down her throat. Her eyes rolled back, and her hands
 began to slap and claw at his legs as her legs began to kick the ground. She was suffocating.
   Once Alan had shot his load he looked down again at her. She was limp and lifeless.
 He had killed her.
   But, he was still overcome with passion, so he threw her dead body on his bed. He then
 began to feel all over her body, starting from her feet up to her breasts. He licked the
 soles of her feet, and rolled his tongue inbetween her toes. He then felt her silky legs,
 stroking each with both hands. At the pussy he jammed his fingers in and out. Then
 because it was a really hairy pussy, shaved it. After shaving it, he rubbed it some more, 
 then took his tongue and licked it. Then he took off his clothes and laid ontop of her.
   First he just kissed her on the lips, then he flipped her over and fucked her up the 
 ass. He rubbed her breasts as he screwed her dead body. It was a really tight hole, and
 Alan enjoyed it very much. After shooting his load a for the second time, he was finished.
 He got up off her, and stuck her in a big trash bag. Then he cleaned out his big meat 
 fridge, and stuck her in it.

   Over the next couple days he just pulled her out and thawed her when he was horny.
 Then the manager came back. The manager asked everyone if they'd seen her. None of
 the tenants had any clues, but Alan did not know this. His mind grew wild thoughts again
 and became paranoid and suspicious of everyone, thinking they were going to turn him in.
   Finally the manager came to his apartment.
   "Uh, hello, Mr. Harold. What ya need? If it's about the rent..."
   "No, Alan, it's not. It's Esmerelda. Have you seen her? She's gone missing."
   Alan's mind became wild with fear. He began sweating and his speech slurred. He
 looked back at his damned fridge.
   "Uh, no - can't stay that I have."
   "Ok, well, let me know if you do." He was just about to leave as Alan blurted out...
   "It wasn't me. I had nothing to do with it."
   "Huh? What are you saying? I don't suspect anyone."
   "I know what you're thinking." Alan's fears had taken over and were turning against him.
   "Uhh, yeah." The manager was geting really suspicious.

   Later that day another knocking came at his door. Alan nervously answered his door, hoping
 it wasn't the manager again. Slowly he opened, and there were 2 officers there.
   "Police, we have a search warrant."
   "Uh, mr. officer, I can, uh, assure you there's nothing here. But come on in..uh." said
 Alan, hoping they wouldn't find anything or search the freezer.
   The police looked all over. While they searched the bedroom, Alan tried to dispose of the
 body, but they were alarmed by the sound of the garbage disposal turning on. They rush out.
 Alan had just managed to stick her left hand in it, with only a few fingers grinded off.
   The body, once a nice slightly tan, was now pale and white, and thin. There were
 stab wounds in the legs where Alan had tried to create new holes. The cheeks had been slashed
 opened, and the tongue stretched out. The body was grotesquely distorted and molested.
   "Oh my god! You are a fucking sick puppy!" muttered the officer as he drew his weapon.
   Alan yelled, "NO! You don't understand!" as he grabbed a knife and ran at the officer.
 Alan was shot in the shoulder and dropped the knife.

   Alan was tried and convicted. His case was all over the news and in the paper. He was
 branded a real perverted psycho, right up there along with such people as Jeffrey Dahmer.

   In prison Alan was roomed with a big strong homosexual. He liked Alan.
   Alan sat in his bed one night, dreaming of the night he had killed Mrs. Harold. Then he felt
 a hand placed over his mouth. "Shhh, don't scream." It was his cell partner.
   He felt another hand pull his pants down just a bit, exposing his hole. He then was about
 to scream, but couldn't, so he clamped down on the man's finger. The pain. The man had
 crammed his whole fist up Alan's ass. He then took a knife and slit off Alan's balls, and began
 to stroke his own dick, using Alan's blood as a lubricant. He then pulled out his arm, pulling
 out some intestines.
   Alan died that night. Little cared, and nothing became of it. In fact the guards covered it up
 and wrote it down as a suicide.

 The End

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