So I spent a lot of time on the Internet and at the public library, reading up on the world’s principal Bad Guys. I tried to be careful to separate the wheat from the chaff. It wasn’t enough to establish merely that some military leader or national dictator was a known tyrant. I needed to determine, at least as best I could, that he was a true obstacle to progress in his home country. He was preventing better people from perhaps ruling with a more beneficent hand.He (or she) had to be unjust, power-mad, and cruel.There were plenty of candidates (and most of them didn’t survive my basic research). It was hard work, but once I satisfied myself that a Bad Guy didn’t have any redeeming social value, the “work” of sending him straight to Hell was as simple as could be.I just mentally zapped the S.O.B. and waited for the news services to confirm the kill.For quite awhile, I concentrated on political types. The press began to notice the sudden epidemic of deceased dictators, and a few. He nuzzled my damp hair and my neck, murmuring sweet words. ‘You are so amazing, Maggie. So amazing.’ He slipped his hands under my robe, running them over my full breasts. ‘I never expected any of this this. Never expected your acceptance. Not in my wildest dreams.’ ‘How wild are your dreams?’ ‘What do you think?’ ‘I think you should come downstairs with me, Eric.’ ‘I want to fuck you right here. On your dining room table. In front of the window.’ ‘If you come downstairs with me, I promise you won’t be disappointed. Something I’ve kept hidden for many years is down there.’ ‘Ah, yes. Your secret. You know I know already.’ Eric traced his fingers up my neck and grasped firmly. Our eyes locked, he pressed my throat just tight enough to stir old memories deep inside my body. My hips rocked. I led him back through the kitchen and down the basement stairs. The door was locked, although I had hung the key on a hook in the door frame after Gerald had gone. I had never been allowed to touch.
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