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Friday, January 5, 2007


A while ago I was reading a true crime book written by celebrity District Attorney Vincent Bugliosi. There never should have been such a person as a "celebrity District Attorney," but the book is still pretty interesting nonetheless. It is about a man and a woman whom he prosecuted for their involvement in the murder of the woman's husband in the 1960s. Bugliosi presumed that they offed him so she could collect a fairly substantial insurance settlement. In the book Bugliosi takes an in-depth look at the sociopathic personalities and backgrounds of both individuals. The man was a former cop who had been kicked out of the LAPD for his role in helping a young woman find someone to illegally abort her unborn child in the "no choice" era of the 1950s. Among the other revelations about his background was the murderer's own admission that he became sexually aroused while watching two women fight. Evidently he had witnessed two young girls fighting over him when he was at a pivotal age. He had been at the home of a fat girl who liked him and he had unintentionally started paying more attention to her thinner friend. The fat girl had become enraged, stripped her girlfriend naked, and begun beating her while the future murderer watched in amazement. Bugliosi ties the killer's sexual interest in female fighting to his penchant for commiting extreme acts of violence. I found that a bit amusing.

To date I still have not finished the book because I temporarily lost interest in the second part of it. Part 2 covers all the details, (and I mean all of them), of the courtroom proceedings which ultimately lead to the convictions of the murdering pair. Eventually I'll read it but last month I put it to the side of my nighttable for awhile. Coincidentally I got booked for a catfight shoot right around that time. I had not done one in many months and this shoot would be for a new company. Oddly, the location was a house in San Bernardino. I was willing to go there even though it was a long distance away because I could use some extra money. When I confirmed the directions on I noticed that the place was on an isolated road way off the main highway. Oh, whatever. These people would be paying me generously and they had mentioned the names of several models I knew as references. Plus, I would be working with Stacy Burke. It appeared that everything was on the up and up.

On the given morning I drove out there and arrived at the location a bit late. I did not see Stacy's car anywhere. Numerous other vehicles lined the driveway leading up to the secluded house. The accumulated dirt and rust coating their surfaces indicated that they had not moved for a long time. I stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell. No one answered so I tried knocking and then rang the doorbell again. Maybe I was at the wrong place. The dwelling itself looked so ramshackle that it was possible that no one lived there at all. When I pulled out my cellphone to call the man who had booked me for the shoot I found that I could not get a signal.

Just then I heard a footstep behind me. Momentarily startled, I whipped around to face a disheveled looking man with a friendly smile on his face. It turned out to be Pete, the guy who had arranged the shoot. He picked up my bag and ushered me inside. For some reason a bit of nervousness was welling up inside me and I asked if Stacy had arrived. He said "no" and gestured for me to sit at the rickety wooden table in the center of the room. There was a single lightbulb with no enclosure suspended from the ceiling above it. We sat in silence for a minute and then I began making polite conversation to fill the dead air. Pete was a master of one-word responses, but I gleaned that he'd been a fan of catfight entertainment for some time and had finally decided to start shooting his own material for an Internet site. We lapsed into another prolonged silence. Where in the world was Stacy? Could she have gotten lost on the winding roads that lead up to Pete's house? I started chatting again to ease my own tension. For some reason I found myself mentioning the Bugliosi book and the murderer who enjoyed watching women fight. The emotionless expression on Pete's face began to morph into one of sinister fascination. He quickly became so enrapt in my discussion of the book that it started to creep me out. Abruptly I stopped talking. A minute ticked by as he stared at me and watched me try to stifle my rising sense of unease. There was a sadistic glint in his eye when at last he said:

"You really should have checked with the other models I named as references. I've never met any of them. At least you could have called Stacy to find out if she really was booked for a shoot today. I can tell you that she's not booked for one here, but I am still very eager to see how hard you can fight."

I sat frozen in my chair paralyzed with panic. Oh, Lord help me- what was this psycho going to do to me?!

Perhaps it's better that I don't remember much of what happened after that. I wish I could forget all of it, but the memory of his rough, calloused hands jerking me out of the chair and forcing me into the woods behind his shack is etched into my mind forever. A week after the incident I received the pictures below in a large manila envelope that came to my mailbox. The return address provided on the package named a street in San Bernardino that does not exist.

These disturbing photos are now inside The Bondage Room at .

- XXOO Tanya

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