June 12: Dear Diary; I'm a prostitute now. Very high class and high priced, of course. One thousand dollars a night. The men pay it because I'm worth every penny of it.
I've left the wrestling job at The Arena. It was getting sort of boring with the fixed matches and all. The money was good. But with eleven million in the bank from the two fight-to-the-deaths, who needs money. And those matches in South Georgia awakened something in me that was lost in the early arena matches, back in the "good old days" when they weren't fixed. Not to kill my opponent! Oh no, not that. But to go all out in a vicious match with no holding back. I love to fight, Dear Diary.
Oh, I've added more stuff to my gym. A large punching bag. It hangs from the ceiling and is almost as big as me. And that small type that hangs about head high. I'm great at wrestling. But I need to get the ability to land knockout punches.
I now own a house in Buckhead. That's a very exclusive area in north Atlanta. Would you believe I'm just seven minutes away from the Governor's mansion? Did I say eleven million in the bank? Make that eight million. The house , with a very large garden for my web victims, did not come free. Still own the house in Home Park. Some new owners might want to dig up the garden and build a swimming pool. Would be hard to explain the bodies. Don't rent it either. A renter might go digging around. It's sort of a second home now. Spend a night or two a week there. Gotta go, Nancy.
8:00pm. Nancy sits on the barstool at the private men's club on the north side of downtown Atlanta. Some of the wealthiest guys in the metro area go there after work to unwind with a game of tennis, a leisurely meal prepared by one of the city's best chefs and/or sex with the best and highest paid women money can buy. The women are carefully screened by the club owners. The Police vice squad knows about the "women at the bar", but looks the other way because of the enormous influence wielded by the club members.
"How much?"
Nancy puts her drink down and turns slowly to the left to face him. He's good looking. Light blond hair and blue eyes. Must have just come off the tennis court. Tennis shirt, shorts and still sweating, slightly. Nice muscular arms and legs. Her guess is he's forty five years old, maybe younger.
At first, Nancy's deep blue eyes narrow into slits. Like she's been insulted. But then she smiles and laughs.
"You get right to the point don't you? What did you say your name is?
"I didn't. Fred will do."
"Fred. Beverly. My friends call me Bev. Good to meet you. One thousand dollars, Fred. Up front."
"You must be very good, Bev."
"The best, Fred."
Nancy comes to a different high class bar two or three times a week. Normally she and the guy spend a night of sex at one of the area's most expensive hotels. He picks up the tab, of course. The great majority of the men are very lucky. They get to see the sun rise the next morning.
But about once every two or three months, along comes a "Fred." Someone that arouses Nancy to the point she believes he just might be "Mr. Right." The guy who will rid her of the sexual dysfunction of having to kill men in a leg scissors hold in order to have an orgasm. These men are not taken to the expensive hotel. They are taken to her large, expensive home and into her bedroom. Her "web". So far none of them have seen the sunrise. Their bodies are buried in her garden.
If it was a "Mr. Average", he and Nancy would walk out together, get in his car and go the hotel. Not so with a "Mr. Right." She's got to be extremely careful. Nancy has seen the stories on TV and in the newspapers about the disappearing men. She's no fool. At each bar her hair is a different color. Her eyes are a different color. Her name is different. Her clothes style is different. Her entire persona is different. She may be a little loud and talkative at one bar. Silent and mysterious at the next. And she and a possible "Mr. Right" will not leave in his car. They will leave in hers. And, if she can possibly help it, no one will see them leave together.
"Fred, why don't you get a quick shower and meet me at my car in the lot, a new black Mercedes parked at the back. I love that car. Like to drive it every chance I get. I'll bring you back here tomorrow morning, OK?"
Fred nods an OK with sort of an amused look on his face. He's married. Attractive wife and three kids in high school. Fred's a hunk and he knows it. He cheats on his wife every chance he gets. She's suspected it for years, but has decided to wait until the kids are grown and then hit him up for one huge divorce settlement. Fred is an Executive Vice President at one of Atlanta's largest banks. He's slept his way through an endless list of attractive secretaries there, attractive and restless housewife's and, when he's too lazy to flirt, a number of high class call girls. Lately he's leaning more and more to call girls. The expensive ones are real pros. They seem to know more ways to turn him on sexually than all the secs and restless housewives put together.
He's especially attracted to Nancy's legs. She's wearing a short skirt and the beautiful, sensual muscle has really turned him on. Most men like a woman with strong, sexy legs. Next comes a hard flat stomach. But with the upper body, the back, shoulders and arms, a lot of men are still uncomfortable with women who have well developed muscles in that area. So Nancy usually covers up and wears a blouse with long sleeves. But she makes sure the blouse is about a size too small so the men notice her world class tits. Hers are implants. But who gives a damn.
Nancy sits in her Mercedes and waits, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. It's not impatience. Just a habit of hers. Actually, the longer the span between the time she was seen with Fred and the time he finally leaves the better. Two hours later he comes out of the club, wearing dress slacks, a polo shirt open at the neck and loafers with no sox. That dumb fool probably thinks he irritated me by taking so long. It would really have been better if he'd waited three hours.
"Sorry it took so long, Bev. Ran into some of the execs from the bank where I work. They wanted to talk shop. They sign my paychecks. What could I do?
"Nothing, Fred. Absolutely nothing. I understand. It wasn't your fault."
Nancy puts the car in drive and pulls out of the parking lot. She notices Fred can't keep his eyes off her muscular legs.
"Do you like muscular women, Fred?. Do they arouse you?"
The question catches him off guard. For a split second he looks like the "deer caught in the headlights" but quickly recovers.
"Well, I like a good pair of well developed legs, that's for sure."
Next Nancy yanks off her blond wig and takes out her tinted contact lens. She turns to him and flashes her million watt smile. Now she's her natural pure Hispanic with deep brown hair and eyes.
"Please grab the steering wheel for a moment, Fred. And don't worry. My heavily tinted windows make it almost impossible for people to see in."
Nancy quickly unbuttons her blouse, takes it off and tosses it in the back seat. Fred can see her powerful stomach, arms and shoulders even in the dimly lit car. The view is especially good every time they go under a street light. His mouth opens slightly but no words come out. For one of the few times in his adult life, Fred is completely speechless.
Nancy flexes her muscles and is slightly amused when Fred's mouth opens even wider, but still no sound comes out. I guess I'll have to get this conversation going. The silence is deafening.
"Well, what do think about my muscles, Fred.?"
"I think they're beautiful, Bev. Do you mind if I run my fingers over them?"
"Of course not. Go right ahead."
Fred starts with her abdominals, touching very lightly, then to her back, shoulders and arms. Nancy flexes each muscle group as his hands pass over them. When he's finished, he leans back staring in awe with his cheeks slightly flushed. Nancy lets a few seconds go by. Then wham!
"Fred, would you like to see me in a bloody, brutal, no holds bared fight with another strong woman?"
Nancy thought there would be a long pause, but the answer is instant.
"Yes, Bev. When?"
"Now, Fred."
He holds the steering wheel while she puts her blouse back on and they head for a nightspot down near the airport. It's called The Cage. Fred's breathing has returned to a normal rate, his cheeks are no longer flushed and he's smiling. He prides himself on being able to jump into the middle of a new situation, size things up quickly and make a decision. He's decided he likes what he sees so far and is looking forward to the fight and the night of bliss to follow. Assuming Bev is not the one beaten to a bloody pulp, of course.
Still not wanting to be seen with Fred, Nancy lets him out at the front door, tells him to try and get a seat down front while she parks around back and goes to the dressing room. Or undressing room, I should say. She forgot to tell him that all fights are in the nude. She ask him to go to her car when the match is over and wait while she showers off. He wonders why he can't wait in the nightspot instead of the parking lot, but figures "to hell with it, she must have her reasons."
Inside the nightspot, tables and chairs and being cleared away from the center of the main area so a strange looking cage device can be rolled in and the wheels taken off so it rest solid on the floor. The bars are at least a foot apart and covered with a thick padding. The large spacing between the bars is to provide maximum viewing and yet still keep the fighters in the cage. The padding is to keep the women from being hurt if they fall into or are knocked into the bars during a fight. The customers had rather just clear off an area in the middle of the room and let the women have at it. The owners tried this once and the fighters crashed into so many tables and chairs, the damage ran into the thousands of dollars.
The nude fights are no holds bared except for three things. No biting or scratching. No one will have to leave looking like they've been ten rounds with an alley cat. And no using the bars as a weapon. If someone punches their opponent and the person falls into the bars that's OK. But you can't then run over and repeatedly slam their heads into the side of the cage. Other than that, anything goes.
It's fight time. A nude Nancy Anderson enters the cage. Fred's blood pressure and breathing rate immediately shoot up. She's a five foot, two, 135 pound package of solid, beautiful muscle. She throws her shoulders back and her large tits jut straight out. And she's a hell of a fighter. Never been defeated in a cage fight. The winners are paid a whopping thousand dollars, peanuts to what she used to make at The Arena, but Nancy doesn't care. She's fighting. That's all that matters.
Her opponent enters the cage. Her name is Alice. She is five feet, eight and weighs 180 pounds. None of this height and weight class stuff like back at The Arena. The other woman is obviously very strong. A lot of muscle. But Nancy notices she looks sort of soft around the middle. The door to the cage closes. That's the signal to both women that the fight has started.
The large woman immediately grabs Nancy in a bear hug and lifts her off the floor. Alice is a power lifter. Her biceps and shoulders bulge as she pulls at her opponent's spine. The pain is immediate and intense. But Alice made one mistake. She forgot to pin Nancy's arms to her sides and quickly gets hit with a savage number of punches to the face. Blood gushes from her nose and two split lips. Nancy has turned her into a punching bag.
But amazingly, Alice holds on and increases the pressure to Nancy's spine. Her head rolls back in reaction to the pain at the base of her back which is about to break. Nancy clasp both fists together and sends a series of pile driver blows into Alice's forehead. The larger woman is almost knocked out and drops Nancy to the floor. Nancy steps back for a few seconds, feeling her back, trying to access the damage. She should have kept on beating Alice in the head. The woman would be unconscious by and now and the fight would be over.
Alice uses the opportunity to send a swift kick straight up between Nancy's legs. She drops to her knees in pain and Alice quickly jumps behind her and grabs her in a choke hold. Again those big power lifter muscles bulge and Nancy can't breathe. Nancy manages to get to her feet dragging Alice into a half standing position and then she borrows a page out of Alice's playbook. Her right fists slams Alice right between the legs and now it's her turn to drop to her knees in pain. She does manage to hold on to the choke hold, but it's lost half the power. Nancy grabs Alice by the back of the head and her stomach muscles bulge as she flips the larger woman over her head. Alice lands on her butt and Nancy sends a savage kick to her head. More blood comes from Alice's face.
This just seems to enrage Alice. She jumps up and sends a crashing blow to one of Nancy's tits. Quickly follows it up with a blow to the other one. Nancy almost doubles over. My God, this woman knows how to inflict big time pain. She fires back two quick punches to Alice's tits. Her tits are not as big as Nancy's. But a blow to the tits is a blow to the tits. It hurts like hell.
Nancy again notices Alice's soft looking belly and thinks of her large punching bag in the gym. She throws all her strength and power into a blow to Alice's midsection and the woman's face clouds over and she grits her teeth. The blow has obviously done some damage. Nancy remembers something she read in a book about boxing. "Kill the body and the head dies." This time it's a left into Alice's midsection. She tries to retaliate by throwing all her power lifting strength into a blow to Nancy's midsection. The punch actually lifts Nancy off her feet, but hitting her in the stomach is like pounding on an oat tree.
Nancy is all over Alice with blow after blow to the midsection. The woman starts to double over and cover up. Nancy simply switches to a series of punches to the head. Then it's back to the soft body, blow after blow. I can't believe she'd come into a fight with her midsection so out of shape. But she's a power lifter and I guess she was counting on an unbreakable bear or scissors hold to end it quickly.
Nancy is beginning to get overconfident and not pay attention to what Alice is doing. The next time the big woman bends over in pain, she grabs Nancy by the feet, yanks her onto her back and wraps her massive legs around Nancy's throat in a scissors hold. Alice is still gasping for breath as a result of the body blows and some of the power is missing from her scissors. But the hold is still almost devastating. Nancy can barely breathe. She manages to get to her feet with Alice's legs still wrapped around her neck. Nancy also has very powerful legs and uses them by sending knee after knee crashing into Alice's backbone. This weakens Alice even more, to the extent that Nancy reaches up and shoves Alice's legs from around her neck.
Alice is back in a full upright position facing Nancy, but the fight is almost over. She simply can't take many more of Nancy's strong blows to her body. And Nancy knows it. So it's lighting quick blows to the body, then to the head, then back to body. The Cage manager sees that Alice is so helpless, so out of it, she can't even think of the signal that she's given up. He rushes into the cage, ask Nancy to back off and waves his hand back and forth in front of Alice's eyes. Her eyes are like she's in a trance. She doesn't even follow the movement of his hand. He raises Nancy's hand as the winner and the customer's burst into applause. Nancy is very popular here. With her solid, beautiful body, large tits and true fighting skills, she's become a big hit.
Fred has been so awed by the sight of Nancy's nude body, her beautiful muscles flexing and straining during the fight that he just sits in his chair until an employee ask him to get up so they can put the furniture back where it was before the cage was rolled in. And Fred prides himself on not being easily impressed, much less awed. He snaps out of it, finds Nancy's car in the lot and waits. She comes out quickly and they both climb into the shiny Mercedes.
"Did you enjoy the fight, Fred, watching me battle in the nude?"
"I loved it, Bev. I'd like to watch again some time."
Oh God, Fred if only you could. I'll try hard tonight, as hard as I can. But the chances are slim to none.
"Fred, I've got an idea. Let's use my house instead of a hotel."
"Great idea, Bev!"
Actually, he's relieved. Signing in at hotels always makes him nervous. Afraid of bumping into someone he knows. It's mostly small talk for the rest of the trip. Are the Atlanta Braves really going to trade one of their starting pitchers? That type thing. Fred is very impressed when they pull up to Nancy's house.
"Wow. Never knew prostitutes made this kind of money. You can't be more than ten minutes from the Governor's mansion, Bev."
"Seven, to be exact," she says as she pushes a button and the garage door slides open.
"Would you like anything to drink?"
"No, Bev. I had a beer or two at The Cage. What I need now is a warm bed and a warm body. I assume you can supply both?"
"Yes. But first let me warn you. I'm a black widow. You know, the spider?"
Fred rolls his eyes.
"Of course I know what black widows are. And their mating habits. As soon as they make love, the female kills and eats the male. Right, Bev?"
"That's right, Fred. And I'm a female black widow."
"And I'm the President of the United States. Enough, Bev. Just lead me to you bedroom."
"It's my web, Fred."
"Whatever, just lead me."
OK, Fred. I tried to warn you.
She flips on the lights in the bedroom. For the second time tonight, Fred is really impressed. There is a king sized bed. But it's the mirrors. The entire ceiling is covered by a mirror. And every single wall is also covered. Floor to ceiling.
"Like to watch, Bev?", he says smiling.
"Sort of. But it's mainly for some of my most wealthy clients. They love it. By the way, Fred, are you into kinky sex?"
"Bev, I'm into sex. Period. Kinky or otherwise," he says as he quickly strips off his clothes.
Nancy takes off her clothes and then reaches into a drawer on a night stand and pulls out four pairs of handcuffs.
"Ah, let me guess, Bev. You're going to handcuff me to the four bedposts. Right?"
"Right. Any objections? I see you've probably done this before, but without anything approaching the pleasure you'll experience in the next few hours."
"First the search, Bev," he says as he starts looking under every inch of the mattress.
"What are you doing, Fred?"
"Bev, you remember that movie Basic Instinct with Sharon Stone and Kirk Douglas, where she strapped men to the bedpost, reached under the mattress, grabbed a razor blade and slashed them to death?"
"Yes," Nancy says rolling her eyes. And it was Mike Douglas. Kirk is his dad."
"Whoever. Search is over. Lock me down. Just please remember where you put the keys to the handcuffs."
Nancy cuffs one wrist to one of the top bedposts, the other wrist to the other side. She repeats the procedure with his ankles and the bottom bedposts. Then she turns down the lights. Enough to make it romantic and seductive, but not so dim that you can't see what's going on in the mirrors.
And then she starts to work him over. Nancy massages his erection until it reaches maximum height and keeps massaging until a drop of clear liquid appears at the top. He's about to have a climax. She stops. Rubs one of her fingers across the liquid then across her lips, then across his lips. Then she bends low and whispers in his ear.
"Double or nothing, Fred. A thousand dollars says I'll have you begging for sex in two hours or less. If I don't the whole night is free."
"You're on, Bev. Give it your best shot. But remember, I've had some of the best call girls in Atlanta make love to me."
"True. But you've never had me, Fred. And my muscles turn you on, don't they?"
"Yes, Bev. It's an experience, a sensation, I've never had before."
She backs away from his ear and sits where her calves can reach his erection. Her strong muscles close in on it. They flex and caress. They squeeze gently. At the same time her feet paw at his stomach. Her feet are strong. Probably from the miles and miles of running. And they are pretty. Nice high arch. Slim, beautiful toes. Fred feels all this. He is also watching the mirrors. The one overhead. The ones on both sides. Again she sees the clear fluid and backs off, knowing he's near an orgasm. She can keep a man in that state just below the level of climax for hours. Drive them completely nuts. Nancy is a pro.
Then she moves forward again, this time placing his erection between her beautiful, strong thighs. He's very big and his top rises slightly above her muscles. Again the pressure, this time from her thighs, is gentle, with an occasional flex that sends a shiver down his body. So strong she can feel it. And when the clear liquid appears, she backs off.
Two hours. No way. Don't be silly. After one hour, Fred caves in and begs.
"Bev, I've got to have you now!" Men are the stronger sex? Don't make me laugh. The stud has been given two hours. It only takes half that time.
"Where is my two thousand dollars, Fred?"
"In my wallet, on the nightstand."
Nancy gets the money and takes off his handcuffs. They are quickly all over each other. He thrust deeply into her. She wraps her strong arms and legs around him and strains with every muscle in her body to have an orgasm. Nothing. Fred will sleep after his orgasm. He will wake up three or four hours later and be ready to go again.
Nancy lies awake. Waiting for one more attempt. One more attempt before she turns into the "Black Widow." She's tried prayer. She's tried psychotherapy with four different psychiatrist. Nothing has made her have an orgasm. Nothing except killing. Fred begins to snore as she lies awake. And waits.
5:00am. The dark sky is beginning to fade. The stars are winking out. The first very pink glow is beginning to peek through just below the horizon and through the branches of the trees around Nancy's home. She sees it of course. She has not slept. She wakes Fred. It's time for one more try.
"Ready to go again, big man?"
"With you, Bev? Anytime. I'm usually a three times a night guy. Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"
"Doesn't matter, Fred. Really doesn't."
Nancy wraps her arms and legs around Fred and strains. Her muscles shake with fatigue. Fred doesn't notice, but tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes it's just no use.
She's dried eyed now and smiling.
"Fred, could you please sit up?"
"Sure, Bev. Anything you say. You're one in a million. Take another thousand out of my wallet as a bonus."
Those are the last words he will ever speak. Nancy's powerful thighs shoot around his ribs. Her ankles lock in a deadly leg scissors. Almost immediately the air is squeezed out of his lungs. Nancy leans back, closes her eyes and the first powerful orgasm hits. She moans loudly. Fred's ribs begin to shatter. His internal organs begin to burst. Blood trickles from his mouth. It's all happening the same way it's happened so many times before.
Oh God. Those newspaper and TV stories about missing men and the theory a serial killer may be responsible. It's all true. I'm just the next missing man. Why me? Why? Those are his last thoughts a second before his heart explodes and he dies instantly. Nancy is showered with his blood. But she keeps her scissors hold in place, having orgasm after orgasm until she falls asleep.
She wakes up early that afternoon, stuffs Fred and the bloody sheets in a body bag. She waits until dark and buries him in her garden.
June 20: Dear Diary; just finished watering my new garden here just seven minutes from the Governor's mansion. A new, nice flower over Fred. And of course I watered the flowers over the six others. Will stop by Home Park today and water the flowers there too. So many names there. Can't keep up with them. How many more, Dear Diary? How many more? And why does that old Frank Sinatra song keep running through my head. He certainly wasn't talking about me. No, oh no not me, a hopeless serial killer. Maybe it's because he did it his way and I'm doing it my way.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall;
And did it my way.
My apologizes to you, Frank. Good night, Dear Diary, Nancy.
# Tom Adams, 2001. All Rights Reserved. Comments to: blackwidowdiary@aol.com