Sex Stalker
The sun was starting to dip below the western horizon when Ryan left the office on Thursday and strolled across the car park toward his vehicle.
At forty-three, and after many years in the same field, he was getting rather bored with his job as a financial advisor for small businesses. It seemed like the same routine every single day. Arrive at the office at eight-thirty, grab a coffee, sit down at his desk and scan through his appointments. Then throughout the day, one by one, he’d meet with his appointments and virtually go through the same spiel of how to better manage business finances, hopefully leading to bigger profits.
In his personal life he’d been married and divorced twice. Right now he was single. No girlfriend. No casual liaisons. Nothing.
Life was dull. He needed some excitement injected into his life before he slipped into a coma.
As he walked across the bitumen he loosened his tie. He hated ties. Used to love them when he was younger. Made him feel professional and important. Now having that strip of material around his neck just felt like a hindrance; somehow symbolic of him being trapped in a lifestyle he no longer wanted to be in.
The black BMW beeped and the indicators flashed when Ryan flicked the button on the remote on his approach. He opened a back door and dumped his briefcase onto the seat. There he paused a second, ripped his tie off and threw that onto the seat as well. He then got in behind the wheel, inserted the key into the ignition and was about to start the car when he noticed something out of place.
Ryan stepped back out onto the bitumen. On his windscreen there was a small scrap of notebook paper jammed under the driver’s side wiper blade. He lifted the blade and retrieved the note. With his curiosity mounting he read it.
“I think you are really hot!” the note said. It was signed simply ‘M’.
Ryan frowned and read the very brief message again, as if it were going to tell him something more the second time around. It didn’t.
He smiled and shrugged then. “Who’s M?” he said to himself.
Ryan looked back at the three storey office building which housed the company he worked for. Did M work there? Was it one of these women he saw wandering through the car park right now?
No one took any notice of him. He glanced all around. No women ducking behind a parked car or scurrying off into the bushes. Nothing looked suspicious.
Whoever it was, they’re probably long gone by now, he decided.
Ryan got back into the car, tossed the note onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The powerful, finely-tuned motor roared into life. He backed out and drove through the car park to head for home.
Traffic was heavy as it always was at peak hour and it took him a good thirty minutes to reach his place out in the suburbs. It was almost fully dark when the BMW pulled to a stop in the driveway to his single level, three bedroom home. Before venturing inside, Ryan went to the mailbox and pulled a stack of letters and junk mail from within. Once inside the house, he dumped the pile of mail and his brief case and tie on the kitchen bench and, out of habit more than the desire for caffeine, put the kettle on.
After a coffee was brewed and milk added, he took his mug and the mail out onto the back patio and sat down to go through it. He took a sip of coffee, then started sifting through the pile.
Junk mail was put aside. He went through the real letters. Bill. Another bill. A letter from his mother, complaining about why she hadn’t seen him in months. Then an envelope with no postage stamp attached. It just had his name written on it. No address. Obviously personally delivered. He flipped it over. Nothing on the back.
Ryan quickly ripped the envelope apart and withdrew another scrap of notebook paper like the one found on his car windshield.
It read, “I think you are really sexy! I love older men.” Again signed simply ‘M’.
“Older men?” said
The sun was starting to dip below the western horizon when Ryan left the office on Thursday and strolled across the car park toward his vehicle.
At forty-three, and after many years in the same field, he was getting rather bored with his job as a financial advisor for small businesses. It seemed like the same routine every single day. Arrive at the office at eight-thirty, grab a coffee, sit down at his desk and scan through his appointments. Then throughout the day, one by one, he’d meet with his appointments and virtually go through the same spiel of how to better manage business finances, hopefully leading to bigger profits.
In his personal life he’d been married and divorced twice. Right now he was single. No girlfriend. No casual liaisons. Nothing.
Life was dull. He needed some excitement injected into his life before he slipped into a coma.
As he walked across the bitumen he loosened his tie. He hated ties. Used to love them when he was younger. Made him feel professional and important. Now having that strip of material around his neck just felt like a hindrance; somehow symbolic of him being trapped in a lifestyle he no longer wanted to be in.
The black BMW beeped and the indicators flashed when Ryan flicked the button on the remote on his approach. He opened a back door and dumped his briefcase onto the seat. There he paused a second, ripped his tie off and threw that onto the seat as well. He then got in behind the wheel, inserted the key into the ignition and was about to start the car when he noticed something out of place.
Ryan stepped back out onto the bitumen. On his windscreen there was a small scrap of notebook paper jammed under the driver’s side wiper blade. He lifted the blade and retrieved the note. With his curiosity mounting he read it.
“I think you are really hot!” the note said. It was signed simply ‘M’.
Ryan frowned and read the very brief message again, as if it were going to tell him something more the second time around. It didn’t.
He smiled and shrugged then. “Who’s M?” he said to himself.
Ryan looked back at the three storey office building which housed the company he worked for. Did M work there? Was it one of these women he saw wandering through the car park right now?
No one took any notice of him. He glanced all around. No women ducking behind a parked car or scurrying off into the bushes. Nothing looked suspicious.
Whoever it was, they’re probably long gone by now, he decided.
Ryan got back into the car, tossed the note onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The powerful, finely-tuned motor roared into life. He backed out and drove through the car park to head for home.
Traffic was heavy as it always was at peak hour and it took him a good thirty minutes to reach his place out in the suburbs. It was almost fully dark when the BMW pulled to a stop in the driveway to his single level, three bedroom home. Before venturing inside, Ryan went to the mailbox and pulled a stack of letters and junk mail from within. Once inside the house, he dumped the pile of mail and his brief case and tie on the kitchen bench and, out of habit more than the desire for caffeine, put the kettle on.
After a coffee was brewed and milk added, he took his mug and the mail out onto the back patio and sat down to go through it. He took a sip of coffee, then started sifting through the pile.
Junk mail was put aside. He went through the real letters. Bill. Another bill. A letter from his mother, complaining about why she hadn’t seen him in months. Then an envelope with no postage stamp attached. It just had his name written on it. No address. Obviously personally delivered. He flipped it over. Nothing on the back.
Ryan quickly ripped the envelope apart and withdrew another scrap of notebook paper like the one found on his car windshield.
It read, “I think you are really sexy! I love older men.” Again signed simply ‘M’.
“Older men?” said
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