Tuesday 15 April 2014

Of Love

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? 
Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for 
Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from 
Praise.I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, 
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. 

~ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

Sometimes the very thing you're looking for
Is the one thing you can't see
Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes 'round the moon
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

~ Save The Best For Last by Vanessa Williams


Sunday 13 April 2014

The High Places

A lovers serenade (by LutherBash deviantart.com)

The Day of Hope 

The days of absence and the bitter nights 
Of separation, all are at an end! 
Where is the influence of the star that blights 
My hope? The omen answers: At an end! 
Autumn’s abundance, creeping Autumn’s mirth, 
Are ended and forgot when o’er the earth 
The wind of Spring with soft warm feet doth wend. 

The Day of Hope, hid beneath Sorrow’s veil, 
Has shown its face–ah, cry that all may hear: 
Come forth! the powers of night no more prevail! 
Praise be to God, now that the rose is near 
With long-desired and flaming coronet, 
The cruel stinging thorns all men forget, 
The wind of Winter ends its proud career. 

The long confusion of the nights that were, 
Anguish that dwelt within my heart, is o’er; 
‘Neath the protection of my lady’s hair 
Grief nor disquiet come to me no more. 
What though her curls wrought all my misery, 
My lady’s gracious face can comfort me, 
And at the end give what I sorrow for.

Light-hearted to the tavern let me go, 
Where laughs the pipe, the merry cymbals kiss; 
Under the history of all my woe, 
My mistress sets her hand and writes: Finis. 
Oh, linger not, nor trust the inconstant days 
That promised: Where thou art thy lady stays– 
The tale of separation ends with this! 

Joy’s certain path, oh Saki, thou hast shown– 
Long may thy cup be full, thy days be fair! 
Trouble and sickness from my breast have flown, 
Order and health thy wisdom marshals there. 
Not one that numbered Hafiz’ name among 
The great-unnumbered were his tears, unsung; 
Praise him that sets an end to endless care!

~ Teachings of Hafiz  (Translated by Gertrude Bell 1897)


Friday 11 April 2014

The Hour Of Lamentation

Yet of this dust we must make our mark
For each time and talent is extended with caution forgot.
Great and small face the dark
Each by choice, his lasting monument defines.
By action shows his lack of understanding.
By these brief moments a story told of lasting lines.

Deeds ~ by Hal Loyd Denton

After time the bitter taste

Of innocence decent or race
Scattered seeds, buried lives
Mysteries of our disguise revolve
Circumstance will decide

Sour Times - by Portishead

Ever dance with the Devil ( by artofmadness deviantart.com)

Dance With The Devil 

Drew Torres.

An award-winning horror writer obsessed with the darker side of life and of the human psyche.

His novels were selling in their millions and were frequently on the best seller lists around the world.

Drew Torres was a lapsed Catholic obsessed with the Occult.

His books frequently dealt with the supernatural.

And with the battle between good and evil.

Drew Torres had a penchant for demonic possession.

And Satanism.

They were recurring themes in his books.

And he was not afraid to push the boundaries.

Seances and voodoo rituals were all part of the writer's journey and added to the mix.

Drew Torres was playing with dark forces he did not understand.

He was dancing with the devil.

And sooner or later Drew Torres would be paying the price.

The devil would exact his pound of flesh.

Already his wife's brother had been killed in a freak car accident in Germany.

And an inexplicable fire had started in the office of his literary agent - killing two cleaners.

But Drew Torres was unperturbed.

His literary forays into the Occult were helping to sell his books.

He was scaring the bejesus out of millions of people and getting paid substantially for it.

Drew Torres had sold his soul to the devil.

And he had subsequently become very rich indeed as a result.

His days as a struggling writer were far behind him now.

Days of eating humble pie were over.

Days of writing short stories for local newspapers and co-authoring children's books for a pittance were just a distant memory.

Drew Torres was now a literary heavyweight.

And he had picture perfect looks too.

Torres was tall and striking with wavy brown hair and intense blue eyes.

His good looks were as famous as his chilling books.

Drew Torres had attained a high profile status and was a frequent guest on TV and radio talk shows.

The rise to global stardom had been meteoric after years of difficulties.

Drew Torres was just hitting his stride.

One of his books had just been made into a big Hollywood movie.

And he had also signed a six figure sum for his forthcoming book some months ago.

There had been a palpable sense of excitement at the elegant office of his literary agent that morning.

Julian Shaw vigorously shook the hand of his celebrated client after reading an early draft of the new book.

The literary agent was confident that Drew Torres would deliver.

And he was secure in the knowledge that his much feted client would easily surpass his previous successes with the newest offering.

After all - Drew Torres was a literary magician.

He was able to conjure up terrifying novels of epic proportions.

And his forthcoming book was confidently predicted to be the best one yet.

The sun was shining bright as Drew Torres stood on the steps outside the imposing office of his literary agent.

Everything seemed so easy.

He would write and perfect a new book.

And it would be another instant world wide bestseller.

It was as simple as that.

And as Drew Torres lit up a Marlborough - he was eager to get back to work.

He was eager to reenter the cocoon-like existence of the writer.

Drew Torres was once again anticipating his retreat into seclusion.

With only his vivid imagination for companionship.

And he was already relishing every moment.

Drew Torres was like a child saving his favourite sweet until last.

A joy that only he was allowed to experience.

Leaving his unfortunate wife out in the cold.

Joanna Torres.

She was a writer's widow.

A striking and attractive woman.

Petite and blonde with chocolate brown eyes and a winsome smile.

Joanna Torres had been a successful artist in her own right.

She had displayed her work at prestigious galleries around the world and won several coveted awards.

But she had given all that up with the rise of his popularity.

There was no longer any need for her to work.

And they no longer called for her.

Joanna Torres felt like a nonentity.

In the grim days of her husband's early career she had kept his body and soul together.

Weathering the storms with him.

But since his meteoric rise to fame and fortune - the balance of their relationship had changed.

And now Joanna Torres was excluded from her husband's world.

Occasionally she accompanied her husband to a glittering function.

And everyone wondered what had happened to her.

She had been eclipsed by her husband.

Drew Torres was descending into the dark recesses of his mind.

His wife knew the signs.

He was playing with his great obsession again.

The dark and shadowy underworld.

Drew Torres locked himself away in his lair.

He was surrounded by numerous lit candles and skulls.

There were countless books, mountains of research material and other paraphernalia.

Drew Torres drank endless glasses of neat Scotch.

As he sat stiff backed in his big rattan chair and stared intensely at the cross on the wall.

It had been turned upside down.

The horror writer was summoning up the devil.

As the candles flickered and the big old clock ticked on the wall.

Drew Torres had become a hermit only surfacing briefly to grab some food before disappearing into his sanctuary once again.

His wife watched had as he dragged a mattress and sleeping bag into the den.

She could barely recognise the wild eyed and bearded man who had formerly been her husband.

Joanna Torres was the fallen angel excluded from paradise.

While her husband summoned all hell fire.

And slept out in his sanctuary with the worms.

Leaving her to lie alone in their big bed and stare up at the ceiling with tears in her eyes.

Joanna Torres had been cast out.

Now she mixed tears of despair with paint at her easel.

While Drew Torres immersed himself in a forbidding world.

Rummaging through books and feverishly making notes.

As dark stories began to spring to life in his mind.

Drew Torres was researching unsolved murders for his new book.

And he was becoming quite the aficionado on the subject.

Torres trawled through the Internet - writing on several forums and engaging anonymously with horror fans and horror aficionados.


He was fascinated and repelled by the people he conversed with.


Some of them were interesting.

Others were clearly delusional.

"Nut jobs"

All of them were obsessed with the Occult and the supernatural.

One of them was particularly persistent and intriguing.

His newest partner in literary crime.

He called himself  - "Bill".

Drew Torres particularly enjoyed their interactions.

Today on a rare excursion out into the world of flesh and blood -  the author had driven several miles out to the Old House at Pryor's Creek.

The scene of a fifteen year old crime that had captured his imagination.

And consumed him.

Drew Torres sat smoking in his car for several hours as he stared at the decaying old residence.

Ready to note any flashes of inspiration from the scene of his fixation.

Before driving home and discovering several messages waiting for him in his in box.

All from his acolytes.

And one from "Bill".

Torres eyes widened with astonishment.

"I have been working on the Anderson case for three years now. And at last I have pieced it all together"

Torres eyes widened with astonishment as he continued.

"I know who did it"

It was with a mounting sense of excitement that Drew Torres finished the email.

"Meet me at the Old House - Saturday morning at 11 am. All will be revealed."

The writer felt exhilarated.

He pushed aside any nagging doubts about the authenticity of the declaration.

And as he reeled off a response - he also pushed aside any nagging suspicions about "Bill".

Dark Ancient House by sand3rr deviantart.com)
A horror devotee with the same dark preoccupation.

The mystery of the murders at the Old House at Pryor's Creek.

It had occurred fifteen years previously.

And now the dilapidated residence was tainted with the stench of death and shunned by society.

Once the Old House had been the family home of the Anderson's

But now it was an empty shell.

Inhabited by the ghosts of the past.

As the battered old mail box creaked in the wind.

The Old House had become a place of loss and desolation.

The scene of a macabre crime.

Where a family of six where discovered brutally slain.

Already rotting where they were slumped.

A family of good standing by all accounts.

Murdered in cold blood by a killer who had evaded capture.

Jock Anderson and his wife Leanne.

Their son,  Peter.

And daughters;  Chloe,  Megan,  Tania and Jade.

Pretty little innocents.

Cut down before life had begun.

All lying dead around the large kitchen table in pools of dark red blood.

Their throats slit from ear to ear.

No weapon had ever been found.

But autopsy reports revealed that the murderer had probably used a jackknife on their victims.

Further investigations suggested the the killer might have been known to the Anderson's.

And that the family members were slain one by one - prolonging the fear and distress of those watching.

The case had never been fully solved.

Until today.

The mysterious "Bill" was about to solve the frightful mystery.

Where so many had failed.

And Drew Torres was determined to be the one to enjoy all the triumph.

He sat back in his rattan chair.

Then he lit up a cigarette and grinned with satisfaction.

There was no need to inform Joanna just yet.

This was his find.

It was his secret.

There was no need to involve her in it.

Joanna Torres was just a drain.

And he wanted to enjoy it all by himself.

Drew Torres began to laugh uncontrollably.

As dollar sign's appeared before his eyes.

Three days passed in a haze of high excitement and dread as Drew Torres anticipated the meeting that would transform his fortunes.

Not only for the sake of his new novel.

But for the sake of his pride as well.

Drew Torres would have to endure liaising with a geek called "Bill".

But anyone could be bought off at the right price.

Even a freak like that.

Saturday morning arrived at last.

It is with a sense of great sense of anticipation and trepidation that Drew Torres finally pulled up outside the Old House.

The writer paused momentarily before descending from his jeep.

There was an eerie quality to the decrepit old residence that fresh morning and Drew Torres suddenly felt an icy chill run down his spine.

Suddenly the author was questioning why he was there.

For a few split seconds Drew Torres considered reversing and driving away.

But the prize he was about to win was worth much more to him than a few moments of doubt and apprehension.

Then he thought of Joanna - tossing and turning in their big bed.

Excluded and unaware of his little secret.

As Drew Torres basked in all the glory.

That was enough to make the writer climb out of his jeep with renewed zip.

Everything appeared to be falling apart as Drew Torres pushed the heavy door open.

The Old House was shrouded in darkness.

Several crows suddenly screeched loudly at the intruder and Torres ducked as they flew past him out of the door.

His heart was beating fast now.

As he surveyed the decaying abode,  he suddenly realised that this was no longer a dream.

It was real.

The nightmare had stepped off the page into his world.

Drew Torres was standing in what must have been the living room.

The wall paper was peeling and curling off the walls.

Broken pieces of furniture lay on the floor and there was on old and sodden sofa.

All the windows were boarded up.

And the stench was terrible.

Somebody had sprayed the walls with a large spidery slogan.

House of the Damned

Drew Torres shivered with fear.

This was really happening to him.

This was a house of horrors.

And it was eerily silent.

As quiet as the grave.

Drew Torres had descended into the dark underbelly of a woe begotten place.

A hellish place.

A place of malevolent wickedness.

And suddenly Drew Torres was fighting the primal urge to run.

"Keep it together!" Drew Torres urged himself "I've come too far to blow it now!"

Suddenly he was in the kitchen.

And he was feeling unreasoning fear.

"The scene of the crime" Torres muttered.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

The large kitchen table stood before him.

Where the Anderson's had been found dead.

Drew Torres had seen photographs of the crime scene often enough.

He had seen images of corpses with blank staring eyes and slit throats.

Dark blood everywhere.

Drew Torres had replayed the scene countless times in his feverish mind.

But this was real

This was really happening to him.

Drew Torres retched.

He was staring death in the face.

He was looking into the mouth of the grave.

Somebody had thoughtfully scrawled a big red cross on the kitchen table.

A mocking declaration.

"Bill!" Drew Torres exclaimed into the gloom "Are you there?"

He had no intention of searching the other rooms.

Suddenly Drew Torres yearned to be in the daylight again.

To walk in the land of the living.

There was no answer to his cry.

But somehow Drew Torres knew he was not alone.

Something was moving around in the shadows.

"Bill!" Torres demanded "Show yourself!"

The horror writer's heart was beating loudly in his chest.

"I know you're there!" Drew Torres added forcefully.

But there was still no response.

"Come out!" Torres exclaimed fiercely.

A dark figure began to walk towards him.

And the writer instinctively backed away.

This was a living a nightmare.

For several moments Drew Torres had cause to bitterly regret this rendezvous.

Perhaps "Bill" was the murderer after all.

And Drew Torres was alone with a raving lunatic.

The horror writer squinted into the darkness.

As the figure moved towards him.

It couldn't be ...

The light from a broken window had illuminated their face in the gloom.

"I've lost my mind"

Joanna Torres.

She slowly emerged from the shadows.

Joanna was dressed in black and her blonde hair had been scraped back.

Her face was pale and her lips were blood red.

She looked like a vampire.

"That's right!" Joanna Torres cried "It's your wife! Remember me?"

There was a half smile on her face.

This could not be happening.

"What are you doing here?" Drew Torres demanded incredulously.

His wife threw back her head and laughed loudly.

"Why are you here?" Torres added with stunned bewilderment.

"Why do you think?" Joanna answered him finally "I am Bill!"

"I am Bill"

The writer's eyes widened as the words shot through him.

"I am Bill"

Joanna Torres was smiling knowingly at him.

Her dark eyes were flashing brightly.

And it chilled his bones and froze the blood in his veins.

"You're lying ..." Drew Torres declared forcefully.

Bill must be hiding in the battered Old House somewhere.

"Bill!" Torres exclaimed "Bill - come out!"

But there was no reply.

"Don't waste your breath!" Joanna Torres informed him crisply.

"What the hell is going on?" Her husband demanded as shock turned to anger.

"I've been pretending to be Bill for the last few weeks" Joanna Torres explained brightly "It wasn't hard to hook you in. I know all your weaknesses!"

Her husband shook his head in disbelief.

"But why?" Drew Torres entreated her.

"It was the only way I could get your attention!" She informed him "It's all over Drew! I'm leaving you!"

Suddenly everything made sense.

Suddenly the writer realised how much he loved his wife.

"But I just don't understand ... you never complained!" Drew Torres beseeched her.

His wife wasn't smiling anymore.

"And you never asked!" Joanna Torres replied.

Tears were filling the writer's eyes as he struggled to comprehend what was happening to him.

"Goodbye Drew!" His wife added simply and devastatingly.

"No Joanna!" Drew Torres pleaded desperately "No! No!

He was in hell.

Joanna Torres walked calmly to the door.

Then she turned to her dejected husband once more.

"If you dance with the devil" Joanna Torres informed him "you have to pay the price"

And with that she strode out of the place of death and desolation into the light.

I Love You To Death

Today was a good day.

The devastatingly good-looking billionaire jeweller disrobed and lit up a large Cuban cigar as he surveyed his kingdom with pride.

The seventy-six room hilltop mansion set in a hundred acres of land.

A palace fit for a King.

Joseph Thadeus Stimpson.

A titan in the business world.

He had exclusive jewelry shops and boutiques in most major cities around the globe.

Joe Stimpson had plenty to be happy about that bright day.

Life was good.

And Joe Stimpson had a high profile status of celebrity proportions.

His handsome features frequently graced the covers of top magazines worldwide.

Joseph Thadeus Stimpson was one of the most eligible men in the world.

He was staggeringly wealthy and charismatic.

With the kind of matinee idol looks that made him instantly desirable.

The tanned and athletic hunk that everyone coveted.

Joe Stimpson was classically handsome with chiseled features and a well defined jawline.

He was tall, muscular and tanned with slicked back black hair and crisp blue eyes.

An irresistibly attractive Lothario with a primal animal magnetism.

Sex oozed from every pore of his muscular body.

And his virility and prowess were legendary.

He had the kind of stamina that ensured a marathon fuck in bed.

Joe Stimpson was the muscled hunk who had valiantly vanquished far too many to mention.

Taking his sex like his food.

And leaving his countless lovers behind - completely satisfied.

Begging for more.

Joseph Thadeus Stimpson had been put on the earth to bring pleasure to mankind.

He was the billionaire jeweller with a silver tongue.

And the gift of making anyone he spoke to feel as if they were the only person in the room.

Everyone desired Joseph Thadeus Stimpson.

Because they knew that nobody else could make them feel the way he did.

Nobody else could satisfy them the way he did.

Nobody else could fuck the way he did.

Joe Stimpson was the virile stud who knew how to fill them up.

The swaggering playboy who could screw his way through the Kamasutra.

A man with a seductive charm.

And a calculated mind.

A devilish mind.

Joseph Thadeus Stimpson was a master strategist with a relentless and ruthless determination

A man with a ferocious intellect and an aptitude for success.

Fortune had smiled upon him.

He was a powerful man who had built his empire from humble origins.

And now he was King.

Joe Stimpson had the Midas touch.

For everything he touched turned to gold.

Everything he did was a success.

Joe Stimpson was the handsome stud everyone longed for.

But the playboy billionaire jeweller had at last been tamed.

And all the newspapers and magazines were filled with Joe Stimpson and his beautiful new lover.

Nadja Kamer.

The stunning Swiss model and one-time actress who had given it all up to be with Joseph Thadeus Stimpson.

Pain come first (by hearthy deviantart.com)
As the world went into a frenzy over the newest picture perfect golden couple.

Tomorrow they would be celebrating the sixth birthday of his only daughter with the rest of the globe.

Felicia Stimpson.

A pretty blonde haired child.

The daughter of a long forgotten mistress.

Most of the rich set were expected to attend including many of the world's media.

It was feted to be the party event of the year.

A large yellow marquee had been erected in the endless grounds in anticipation.

The best entertainers had been hired.

And the best caterers in Europe had been busy all day preparing the food.

Joe Stimpson smiled to himself as he stood before his gleaming pool in a pair of  black Speedos.

A large Cuban cigar in his big hand.

"Today is a good day!" Joseph Thadeus Stimpson pronounced.

As the sun shone down upon his golden world - everything seemed perfect.

The devastatingly handsome billionaire jeweller had it all.

But something was wrong.

There was a serpent in the Garden of Eden.

The sun had been shining down brightly upon his love-nest - until recently.

A dark shadow had been cast across Joe Stimpson's idyllic world.

And that shadow was blocking out the light.

And suffocating him.

Everything had been sublime until he arrived on the scene.

For this was a portrait of a jealous man.

A man consumed by passion.

A man tormented by Succorbenoth.

The demon of jealousy.

Joe Stimpson stubbed out his cigar.

And as he dived into the sparkling pool and finally surfaced again - he saw her gliding past.

Nadja Kamer.

The sun was on her back as she gracefully disrobed to reveal her lithe and toned body.

She smiled at him and suddenly he forgot everything.


Soul angel.

She dived into the pool.

And surfaced again like a mermaid rising from the waves.

A tall and willowy beauty with an angelic face, hazel eyes and an abundant mane of raven hair.

Nadja Kamer was an affectionate woman with a winning personality who had become hugely popular in her home country and an international icon.

But she had left Switzerland and Europe far behind to be with Joe Stimpson.

Kamer had jettisoned a successful modelling career to be with the man she loved.

She had turned her back on international cinema.

And said goodbye to Hollywood.

For Joseph Thadeus Stimpson.

Now as the couple embraced in the pool and kissed passionately - the handsome billionaire jeweller momentarily forgot his dark preoccupation again.

As the raging sun beat down on his golden palace.

And they retreated to his huge bedroom to consummate their desire.

Everything was beautiful again.

The following day broke with a red fiery sky as every influential family and their offspring along with the world's media descended upon the Stimpson kingdom to celebrate the birthday of a little heiress.

Felicia Stimpson was a pretty and precocious child - the envy of many of her contemporaries.

Dressed in a pink satin Chloe dress with a small coronet in her strawberry blonde hair.

She was a little Princess mixing with minor royalty.

Amid the captive attention of her admirers and the voyeuristic glare of the media.

Tucking into gourmet food and enjoying the entertainment.

But Joe Stimpson's eyes were on his Queen.

He watched Nadja Kamer obsessively as she moved effortlessly among the guest's tables.

A vision of graciousness.

Nadja Kamer was dressed in a sexy but restrained white Azzedine Alaia dress and her thick black hair was piled up high atop her aristocratic head.

A diamond Cartier necklace glittered at her throat and two intricate emerald earrings shone at her ears.

She was Queen Of Joe Stimpson's heart.

Nadja Kamer smiled at her lover.

Her sweet and generous smile.

Her angelic face.

Her large doe eyes.

Joe Stimpson's heart missed a beat.

She was utterly divine.

And she had a heart of gold. 

Joe Stimpson had never met anyone else like her - so full of compassion.

Never happy unless she had helped somebody or improved a life. 

Nadja Kamer was the woman Joe Stimpson wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Making love endlessly in the big silken bed.

Everything was momentarily forgotten in the tender glow of love.

He loved her so much it hurt.

Nadja Kamer.

Joe Stimpson watched as his lover captivated their guests with her warmth and empathy.

A rose among the thorns.

Joe Stimpson watched Nadja Kamer covetously.

She was his.

But she was just beyond his grasp.

Joe Stimpson strode past numerous prestigious party guests.

They all followed him ravenously.

Many of his guests were secretly languishing with desire for him.

But the handsome billionaire jeweller was barely conscious of them.

His hawk like eyes were fixed firmly on Nadja Kamer.

For Joe Stimpson was once again consumed with his dark obsession.

The old familiar ache was returning again.

Succorbenoth had risen again.

Joe Stimpson silently mused on the effect Nadja Kamer had on men.

And women.

Her charm

And grace.

An effortless part of her being.

The way Nadja  fixed her full attention on the person she was talking to.

Making them feel unique.

A gentle flirtation.

Like the brush of a butterfly's wing.

Joe Stimpson felt a stab of pain as he watched men devour Nadja Kamer with their eyes.

He watched with mounting consternation as his party guests sought his beautiful lover.

As cameras flashed away and photographers shouted terms of endearment at her.

Suddenly Joe Stimpson remembered him.

And the red mist was descending once again.

He was standing a little way off in a white suit.

And Joe Stimpson noted how animated Nadja Kamer was around him.

How her hand flew to her elegant neck.

How he leaned in close and whispered into her ear.

The look of pleasure on her face as she laughed delightedly.

Joe Stimpson squeezed his eyes tight shut.

Bile rose in his throat.

When he finally opened them again - Nadja Kamer had vanished.

And so had he.

And there was an empty space in Stimpson's heart.

"A party fit for a Princess!" A familiar voice suddenly declared beside him.

Joe Stimpson turned to see his best friend.

Ethan Green.

He was surveying the grandiose party with appreciative awe.

"I'm not sure if we are celebrating the birth of your daughter or that of Jesus Christ himself!" Ethan Green added.

Joe Stimpson managed a smile.

Ethan Green was one of Europe's leading gynaecologist's.

He resembled Joe Stimpson in looks and was tall and athletic.

Ethan Green had wavy black hair and clear blue eyes.

He was of a less mercurial temperament than Joe Stimpson.

And unlike his best friend Ethan Green was also unwaveringly monogamous.

Both men were silently observing the enthusiastic guests.

Suddenly they all parted like waves to reveal Nadja Kamer - a vision in virginal white.

A precious pearl.

Nadja smiled and waved to the two men.

"The goddess Aphrodite!" Ethan Green sighed.

But Joe Stimpson wasn't smiling anymore.

Every time the billionaire jeweller looked at his lover - he could only see him.

All the global prestige and vast wealth in the world could not heal the swaggering billionaire jeweller's flaws.

No amount of luxury or accolades could assuage his controlling tendencies.

Or bring peace to his fractured soul.

Nothing could purge the obsessive belief that the ravishing Nadja Kamer was being unfaithful to him.

That night Joe Stimpson watched his lover silently as she slept beside him in the big silken bed.

Her chest rose up and down gently and her sweet mouth was slightly open.

The impossibly thick mane of long raven hair fell about her naked shoulders in waves covering her large breasts.

Hours earlier she had cried out with ecstasy as they made love.

Now the bedroom was silent.

And Joe Stimpson was consumed with thoughts about him.

Mario Lucino Gianelli.

The celebrated tennis champion and winner of seven Grand Slam singles titles.

A devastatingly handsome Italian with a tongue that dripped honey.

With a worldwide following.

Who was now Nadja Kamer's personal tennis coach.

Newly installed for her pleasure.

Mario Gianelli was tall and tanned.

He had a lean and muscular physique and sleek black hair.

Mario Gianelli was classically handsome with fine features and twinkling green eyes.

He had an easy charm and a captivating smile.

Mario Gianelli was the former tennis superstar and pin-up who regularly featured in magazines and newspapers around the world.

He never went anywhere without a pair black of Gucci shades.

Mario Gianelli was the golden boy who everyone wanted to be with.

A dashing Latin hotshot.

Gianelli was admired and desired the whole world over.

His appointment as tennis coach to Joe Stimpson's lover had quickly sent ripples of excitement among the gossip columnists.

Images of the Latin lover in tight white shorts assisting Nadja Kamer on Stimpson's exclusive tennis court were permeating down market newspapers.

And images of the couple enjoying a few stolen moments between sets had become the fuel to feed a growing media fascination.

Nadja Kamer had emphatically denied any impropriety with the handsome tennis superstar.

She had assured Joe Stimpson that she would never be unfaithful to him.

But the poison had already been drunk.

Mario Gianelli had become a viper in Joe Stimpson's bosom.

A dashing young buck.

A pretender for the Stimpson crown. 

The billionaire jeweller had become fixated with the tanned tennis champion.

Now as Joe Stimpson watched his beautiful slumber - he imagined the Italian tennis superstar taking his place.

He pictured Mario Gianelli making love to Nadja Kamer in a hotel room.

Their taut and athletic bodies entwined between satin sheets.

As Mario Gianelli drove himself deep into Nadja Kamer.


And again.

And again.

Until they both cried out in ecstasy.

Joe Stimpson fought back bitter tears.

His team of private investigators had been tailing the couple for days.

Informing Joe Stimpson of every twist and turn.

And feeding his paranoia.

The private investigators confirmed that a disguised Mario Gianelli had been visiting Nadja Kamer at her exclusive apartment.

Joe Stimpson had also been informed that the couple were regularly spending time at a luxurious day spa together after tennis sessions.

Every Thursday afternoon, the Swiss beauty allegedly admitted the Italian superstar into her private quarters at the mansion.

None of the servants were permitted to trouble her and she and the handsome tennis champion did not resurface until several hours later.

Thursday was the day Joe Stimpson spent at his premier jewelry shop in Bond Street,  London.

Secret photographs revealed an unrestrained familiarity between Mario Gianelli and Nadja Kamer as they walked through a park or enjoyed lunch together at a discreet venue.

Suddenly Joe Stimpson imagined the Italian tennis ace making love to Kamer in a sauna.

Their hot bodies drenched in sweat as they writhed in the heat.

The thought of Joe Stimpson's sweet lover being unfaithful to him was eating into his fractured soul.

And slowly driving him mad.

Visions of his lover with a handsome tennis champion plagued him day and night.

He imagined the lovely Nadja Kamer on the tennis court with Mario Gianelli.

Her pert breasts bouncing in a cotton t-shirt as she tossed back her head and exerted herself.

He watched as Mario Gianelli leaned in close to her and guided her hand with the racket.

Their faces were very close now and they both giggled.

A cold shiver ran down Joe Stimpson's spine.

His ego demanded retribution.

As his conflicting emotions barreled in on him.

Even as Nadja Kamer protested her innocence - Joe Stimpson wanted to believe her.

She looked up at him with large imploring eyes.

But doubt had eat away at him like a worm in his brain.

All Joe Stimpson could see when he looked at Nadja Kamer was Mario Gianelli.

He was tormented day and night by the demon of jealousy.

Nadja Kamer and Mario Gianelli were cheating on Joe Stimpson's behind his back.

He had been betrayed by the woman he loved.

And his world was now a dark place. 

A snatched phone call overheard through a partially open door only fueled Joe Stimpson's monomania.

It sounded a death knell to any nagging doubts he may have carried about her infidelity.

"You have to meet him in person" Nadja Kamer sighed "He's a fox - even more gorgeous in real life! And he's the best! Nobody makes me feel the way he does!"

Joe Stimpson fell against the wall as tears filled his eyes.

"Honestly Clara!" Kamer continued breathlessly "Mario is the best tennis coach I have ever had! And he's a professional at other things as well!"

TOO LATE TO REPENT (by chryssalis deviantart.com)
Joe Stimpson stumbled towards his own private quarters as Nadja's delighted laugh filled the air.

He headed for his private bathroom and retched violently into the sink.

A tired and sallow face stared back at him in the big mirror.

His beautiful lover was cheating on him right under his nose.

Four Days Later

Joseph Thadeus Stimpson sat in the shiny black Mercedes outside the towering gates of his enormous mansion.

He checked his watch again - it was exactly 3 pm.

Stimpson had been sitting pensively in the car for over an hour.

His daughter had been safely shipped off to friends in the country.

This was no place for her.

This was no place for innocence.

A private investigator had called to inform him that Nadja Kamer had been witnessed entering her private apartments with Mario Gianelli twenty minutes earlier.

"Is everything okay, sir?" Enquired Wynter the capable chauffeur with a note of concern.

"It soon will be!" Joe Stimpson replied with a dark smile.

In a short while - everything would be put right again.

Presently the conflicted jeweler climbed out of the Mercedes.

As the huge gates slowly opened for Joe Stimpson it was as if he was being admitted into paradise.

Or to hell.

He strode into the palatial residence that he had designed himself and knew so well.

And was instantly met with complete silence.

All the servants had been dismissed.

Joe Stimpson's suspicions were peaked and the tension was mounting as he made his way to Nadja Kamer's private apartments.

He was already suspecting the worst.

Perhaps he was wrong after all.

Perhaps it was all just a dream and he would wake up soon.

Perhaps it was just a joke.

And Nadja Kamer would cry "Fooled you!"

And everything would be good again.


Perhaps ...

An icy coldness gripped Joe Stimpson as he entered his lover's private apartments.

His lover's stamp was everywhere.

Joe Stimpson felt a stab of pain as he noticed the unmistakable touch of Nadja Kamer.

Her impeccable style was evident from the furnishings to the elegant vases brimming with red roses.

Immaculate Nadja.

Soul angel.

Fallen from grace.

Her bedroom door was slightly open and Joe Stimpson walked slowly towards it.

As he got closer he could hear the unmistakable sounds of pleasure.

He knew well enough how Nadja Kamer expressed her joy.

Joe Stimpson had experienced it countless times in bed and in other places they made passionate love.

The sounds of ecstasy.

His heart was pounding loudly in his muscled chest as he stood outside the bedroom door and listened Nadja Kamer groaning and sighing with pleasure.

"Oh yes!" Kamer cried "Yes! Just there!"

Hot anger engulfed Joe Stimpson.

"Don't stop! Yes! Yes!"

The demon Succorbenoth possessed him.

And the billionaire jeweller suddenly felt an overriding desire to avenge himself and purge himself of an unfaithful lover and her paramour.

Joe Stimpson was so enraged that he could no longer think straight.

He roughly pushed the bedroom door open.

Nadja Kamer was lying on her front on the bed.

She was completely naked and her taught body was gleaming with oil.

Mario Gianelli was leaning over her as he expertly massaged her shoulders.

They both looked up sharply with shock and horror as Joe Stimpson stood shaking with rage in the doorway.

Nadja gasped and grabbed a dressing robe as Mario Gianelli backed up.

"Just as I thought!" Joe Stimpson bellowed "It is true!"

"I can explain everything!" Nadja entreated him.

For a moment the beast was tamed as Stimpson gazed into his lover's captivating hazel eyes.

She was looking at him with her angelic face.

And he wanted to believe her ...

"Please, Mr Stimpson!" Mario Gianelli pleaded.

Goodness and light departed.

The demon had surfaced again.

"Damn you!" Joe Stimpson exploded "You've been screwing my lover!"

His face was dark and contorted.

"It's not what you think!" Nadja Kamer interjected "Mario is a professional masseuse. He often gives me a massage after training!"

She was attempting to soothe him - but Joe Stimpson was immovable.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Stimpson blared "You've been fucking each other for weeks! You thought I wouldn't find out but I already knew!"

Mario Gianelli came towards the billionaire jeweller with his hands in supplication.

"Please - I don't want any trouble!" The Italian tennis superstar beseeched him.

Joe Stimpson suddenly pulled out a Smith and Wesson from his coat pocket.

The small revolver flashed in the light as the frenzied billionaire jeweller pointed it at Mario Gianelli.

"No Joe!" Nadja Kamer exclaimed "I love you! Please put the gun down!"

Stimpson remained rooted to the spot with the gun in his hands as beads of sweat formed at his brow.

An eerie silence had descended upon the bedroom.

Nadja Kamer moved carefully towards Joe Stimpson.

His cold eyes were fixed firmly on Mario Gianelli.

The gun was still pointed straight at him.

Nadja Kamer attempted to remonstrate with Joe Stimpson.

"I love you" Kamer informed him gently "You don't have to do this. It's you I love!"

He turned slightly to look at her.

Nadja Kamer was looking at him with a perplexed air of vulnerability.

Joe Stimpson softened slightly.

As he gazed at her - Mario Gianelli attempted to dart for the door.

And the gun went off in Joe Stimpson's big hand.

The billionaire jeweller lost count of the amount of times he fired into the handsome Italian's taut chest.

A coroners report later confirmed that Joseph Thadeus Stimpson had shot Mario Lucino Gianelli five times in the chest at point blank range.

Nadja Kamer was screaming uncontrollably from the side of the bed.

As the gorgeous tennis superstar let out a little gasp of shock before tumbling to the floor.

Like a puppet with their strings cut.

Mario Lucino Gianelli was pronounced dead at the scene.

Before the hysterical and traumatised former model and actress could even think about escaping from the clutches of her demented lover - his big hands were already around her neck.

Joe Stimpson pushed his lover roughly back onto the big silken bed.

Nadja Kamer was trapped under the weight of Stimpson's muscled body.

And she couldn't get up.

Joe Stimpson was snarling into her lovely face and his fingers were digging ever deeper into her throat.

The woman was gasping and clawing desperately at his face and eyes.

Nadja Kamer was desperately fighting for her life.

She was fighting with the devil.

And losing the battle.

The red-eyed beast who was attempting to extinguish the physical life from her no longer resembled her lover.

He had been possessed.

Succorbenoth glared at her.

The contorted face that sneered down malevolently at her was no longer recognisable.

"Please Joe ... no ... please"

Joe Stimpson was staring down unsympathetically at Nadja Kamer as her eyes rolled back and her face began to turn blue.

She was still thrashing around wildly.

But Nadja Kamer was getting weaker.

And weaker.

The life force was leaving her body.

Her resistance was fading.

Finally she lay back limply on the big bed.

Her flaccid arms were outstretched - like Jesus on the cross.

Her blank eyes were staring fixedly at the ceiling.

As a solitary tear rolled her cheek.

Nadja Kamer's red mouth was slightly open.


The veil had been lifted.

Joe Stimpson looked down at the corpse.

The demon had departed.

Leaving behind an empty shell of a man.

Joe Stimpson was lost and bewildered.

The woman he loved was lying dead on his big silken bed.

And he had murdered her.

Joe Stimpson called the police.

"I have just murdered Nadja Kamer and her ... lover!" He declared shakily.

Then he dropped the phone and sat back on the edge of the big silken bed to await their arrival.

Time had become obsolete in the silent bedroom.

The birds had stopped singing outside.

And the sun had refused to show his face.

The cops arrived to find a ghost and two cadavers.

Joe Stimpson was babbling and incoherent.

The fastidious billionaire jeweller celebrated the world over was now a lost and gibbering wreck.

Staring dumbly into space and talking to himself.

Debating his actions to the wall.

As the cops looked at each other and expressed incredulity at the tragic scene.

Lamenting the passing of two golden stars.

As Joe Stimpson sobbed.

The beautiful Nadja Kamer lay dead on the big silken bed.

Blue and purple blotches at her neck - the only evidence of her final torment.

While Mario Gianelli lay in a pool of darkening blood at the foot of the bed.

His compellingly handsome face still expressing shock and mortification - frozen for all time at the moment of his death.

It was like a scene from a twisted Romeo and Juliet.

Later it would emerge that Nadja Kamer had not been having an affair with Mario Gianelli after all.

They had been enjoying a very close but platonic relationship.

And their stolen moments were simply expressions of affection between two friends.

An autopsy report later revealed that Nadja Kamer had been four weeks pregnant at the time of her death.

It also transpired that Kamer had been hoping to tell Joe Stimpson the happy news on a romantic trip to Paris that weekend.

Nadja had confided to close friends that she intended to marry Stimpson.

And that she was looking forward to spending the rest of her life with him.

The phone call that the billionaire jeweller overheard was between Kamer and her sister Clara.

Nadja had been extolling the virtues of Mario Gianelli as a professional masseuse and encouraging Clara to employ him as her personal tennis coach too.

Suspicions had been aroused among the press regarding the nature of the Swiss beauty's relationship with the handsome Gianelli.

But it soon emerged that the bi-sexual tennis ace had begun seeing the Spanish male model Carlos Alvarado shortly before his death.

By the time Joe Stimpson had been informed about the true nature of things  - it no longer mattered.

Because he had already lost his mind.

Joseph Thadeus Stimpson was found guilty of first degree murder.

And was sent to a prison for the criminally insane.


Twelve Years Later

Joe Stimpson returned to his forsaken kingdom on his release from prison.

He spent his days wandering around the grounds like a lost child.

Everyone had deserted him.

Including his daughter.

She had forgotten him and relocated to Los Angeles.

The once magnificent Stimpson residence was now a shadow of its former self.

And it was full of memories of the past.

Everywhere Joe Stimpson turned he saw Nadja Kamer.

She was beckoning to him.

A glowing vision of loveliness.

He could hear her delighted laughter as it rippled down the halls of his palace.

He could see her lying in the big silken bed beside him.

Looking up at him with her big trusting eyes.

Nadja Kamer.

She was haunting him.

Three weeks after his release - Joe Stimpson was found dead in his swimming pool.

A coroner pronounced it death by misadventure.

But it was widely suspected to have been suicide.

Joseph Thadeus Stimpson had taken his own life.

He could not live without Nadja Kamer.

Within a short while his sprawling residence was boarded up.

Because nobody would buy it.

It was left to rot and decay in the sun.