Jenni

Jenni
12 years ago
I spotted her again through my telescope, in her little bikini, lying on a recliner in her tiny back yard, she was almost all legs. She lived with her mother and step-father in a trailer park, on the very edge of the woods. Her name was Jenni Lane, she was thirteen. From more than three thousand yards away, I admired her tan body, as she began to oil herself. My plan was coming along well.

As I stood away from my telescope, I ran the plan through my mind one more time. The contractor had finally finished my ‘darkroom’ deep in the basement of my large house. My hired private-detective had tapped into Jenni’s families’ phone line. Bugged their trailer. From hours of listening to their conversations, I knew Jenni was home alone. Her crack-addicted parents had left her, to join their crack-addict friends on a four-day float trip. At this moment, ten in the morning, Jenni should be in school, seventh grade. She had cut classes. Sweeping the trailer park with my scope, I thought it looked rather deserted.

For three months, through this telescope, I had watched young Jenni have sex with two different boys. I had learned her habits, followed her around town. She was a young beauty. At 27, my taste for women had changed to a taste for young teens. Jenni was a dream! I didn’t work, had a ton of money. Make that tons of money, and was bored out of my mind, my life empty, except for this plan, and Jenni. It’s Now or Never I thought.

I looked into the mirror at the vicious cut under my right eye, lifted my shirt, seeing many dark bruises. I had paid my detective to kick my ass the night before. I was pleased.

Hopping into my jeep, readied with my equipment, I drove down the long hill into town, and then pulled onto a dirt road, into the woods behind Jenni’s trailer. Grabbing my rifle and duffle bag, hiking no more than twenty yards, I spotted Jenni, sunning in her tiny back yard. I closed my eyes and listened. Everything sounded peaceful. I scanned the area, no one seemed to be around. I looked at my watch noting the time. I raised my rifle, resting it on a log, finding Jenni in my scope. I fired.

Looking through my scope, I saw Jenni’s eyes open widely, in surprise. She looked down at her waist, then her hand reached for a small feathery dart. She yanked it out of her shoulder, holding it up in front of her eyes. I watched, as her eyes seemed to lose focus, and then cross, as the little dart fell from her small hand and her head fell back on the recliner. I leaned my rifle next to the tree, picked up a extra-large duffle bag, and quietly crept through the woods to Jenni’s back yard.

Briefly, I stood at the edge of the woods at the edge of her tiny back yard. All still seemed clear. I looked again at my watch, noting the time. I took three long steps, and knelt at the end of the recliner. Holding the duffle bag open, lifting Jenni’s oily legs, I began to pull the bag up, enveloping her body. She weighed maybe eighty or ninety pounds, I figured, after yanking on the drawstrings of the duffle bag and hoisting it over my shoulder. I quickly made myself scarce, slipping into the woods, crouching and turning back toward the trailer park, all seemed clear.



When she woke, I knew what she saw, inside my ‘darkroom.’ It was very quiet.
“Oh my god…ohmygod, ohmygod!” She looked around, I knew what she would find. She would see that she was in a small darkly painted, dimly lit room, with no windows, with only her bikini bottoms on. And me, tightly restrained to the wall in the corner with cuffs and chains, naked, badly beaten, and asleep. I lay there, eyes closed, cock flaccid, listening.

“Oh my GOD!” I heard her scramble to her feet. Run to the door, and pull on it, yanking. I knew she was standing next to a blue Igloo cooler. I knew she had no hope of getting out of that door.

“Hey! Mister! Wake up!” I felt her kick me on the leg, sensed her squat at my feet, as I slowly opened my eyes, and looked at her with surprise.

“Who are you,” I asked groggily.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“John Wilson.”
“Jenni Lane.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked. She shook her head. She looked a little panicked to me.

“What do they want with you,” I asked.
“Who is they?” She asked.
“My wife, her lover, they put me here.” I explained, admiring her still oily body.

“Why?”
“Money, time.” I said. “What do they want with you? What’s that cooler doing in here? What’s in it?”

Soon, trying to keep her near panicked mind occupied with questions and answers, we came to several conclusions. My wife and her lover were raiding my bank accounts. Were probably fleeing the country, or ready to. They had left food in the cooler for us. They had been feeding me once a day, through the door, the cooler of food suggested that was changing.

“They aren’t killers,” I said, sounding confident. “They just need time. You are just some part of their plan.” She looked at me carefully, with concern.