A Purpose he was good at it. And better yet, he liked it. His attention was drawn back to the bloody, abused girl in his hands. He carried her by the ...hroat back through the door and down the rickety basement steps. Her fingers were digging into his hands, nails drawing bloody furrows, her bare feet were kicking at his legs. He didn’t feel it. All he felt was the pull of attraction to the knife. The pull to the power, the omnipotence of having control over life and death. He felt his Purpose.. But more importantly, how? How did girls masturbate? My research into the female anatomy had included porn magazines that my cousin had shown me. While those magazines were graphic, I still had no clue how this vibrator combined with those body parts to generate the pleasure I got when I sprayed my load. I went to the linen closet and looked at the box that the massager was stored in. The illustrations on the box looked like something from the 1960s. No telling how long my mom had owned it. Was. More

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