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"When you think about this girl in the Japanese story," Juju said, "Do you think she will feel pain when she is murdered"

"I haven’t thought about that part of it."

She nodded. "Does the Japanese man think about her pain while he is killing her?"

"He thinks only that by killing her will he possess her completely. Maybe not the act of owning her, as having reached some depth in the condition he’s after."

"What is the condition?" she asked.

"I suppose something in the human condition," I said.

"So that is what you write about," she said. "But tell me what he thinks in his mind. And what he will do to her--will he kill her quickly--like sticking a knife into her heart?"

"No," I said. "He kills her slowly, not painfully, but slowly so he’ll know everything she feels and that way allowing him to feel. He doesn’t feel anything, you see."

"But he is a killer--"

"He sees that is his passion--obliquely, you understand. She is his passion. He hasn’t killed anyone before--"

"And afterwards?"

"Well, the story is only about her murder and what he does to her. But in the act, he does come to feel a recognition--he sees how the serial killer is because he seeks the situation again. Only it can’t happen a second time because he has already killed her."

"But he can kill some other girl--" she said.

"He doesn’t. I’ve told you this story only concerns his obsession about her and her murder."

"So you don’t know if he does go out and kill some other girl?"

"Juju--" I said, "it’s a screenplay I’m writing. I’m making up most of it--right out my head. The character vanishes when I finish writing the damn thing."

"And in the story," she said, "he puts parts of her body in the refrigerator?" she said.

"Yes. He gradually eats sections of her. That’s the main Japanese input into the movie--the real case this is based on. That’s what happened."

"What parts of her does he eat?" she asked.

"Most of her body except the stomach, the spleen, intestines and other insides and maybe the lungs. He didn’t do anything with the lungs. These he gets rid of in the river in a weighted plastic bag. But the rest he cooks and seasons and devours--the liver, the kidneys, her brain and her heart."

"He eats her brain?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"Yes."

"Does he throw her bones in the river also?"

"No. He thinks about having the bones put together so he can have the skeleton intact. Have it all together. He makes an arrangement for her bones to be prepared like a medical specimen. It’s basically the blackmail of this medical technician into doing it. Both of them boil the skeleton and wire it together. That’s how he finally gets caught. His need to have the skeleton and forcing the other to go along with him."

"He has a love affair with her bones," Juju said. "He falls in love with her skeleton."

William S. Burroughs praised Gilmore's controversial novel, Fetish Blonde.  Gilmore is considered a "literary maverick," no stranger to the Beat Hotel in Paris, and one of today's most controversial writers.

Interviewed frequently, Gilmore has also taught and lectured internationally.  

His latest non-fiction book, L.A. Despair: A Landscape of Crimes and Bad Times, gets down to the nitty-gritty behind 5 true crime stories including King of Western Swing, Spade Cooley,  who was convicted of murdering his wife; the first woman to be executed in the State of California, the notorious, amoral "Ice Blonde"  Barbara Graham; one-time porn star, John Holmes; Billy Cook, the hitchhike killer as well as actress, Barbara Payton.
is due out in August 2005, available NOW for preorder on Amazon.

Crazy Streak, Gilmore's latest novel, ... a twisted excursion into seething sexuality, desperate alienation, incest and conscienceless violence; a book destined to be as controversial as Nabokov's "Lolita."is also due out in August

"In a manner of speaking. Once he’s done the deed he can go no further than obsessing over her bones. They are perfect and lovely and white and no doubt just like your bones. He’s committed the ultimate act with this girl and while he’s impelled to repeat it--with her , you see, or at least into gain the same satisfaction, he can’t because he’s killed her once. He comes to learn that his own sense of overpowering curiosity has carried him beyond reason."

"So he goes crazy?" she asked.

"Well, he’s fairly crazy as the story progresses to carry him to these extremes with the girl."

"Would you do that to me?" she asked. "Kill me and eat me?"

I just stared at her. "No..." I said. "I’m certainly unconventional is some respects, but--"

"Does eating me not seem appealing to you?" She opened her blouse and put her hands on her breasts.

"Are you talking about an oral--sexual situation or are you talking about the removal of organs?"

She was pursing and puckering her lips deliciously. "I’m talking about the removal of organs..." She began to lick her lips. "I want to eat my tits," she said, and unfastened the brassiere. "This thing is too tight on my chest. Too tight around my chest and makes red marks. Can you see them?"

"Yes, I can see the indentations..."

She sank back into the throw pillow, cupping her breasts from beneath, pressing them upwards on her small rib cage. She took the nipples between her fingers and pulled outward, stretching them.

"Doesn’t that hurt?" I asked.

"No--it makes heat in me. I can come when I do this... You want to see how I can come when I do this?

"Yes," I said. Her face lowered, her eyes going from nipple to nipple--the right--then the left, and then back again. She took her right nipple in both fingers of both hands and tugged it outward, elongating it twice its length. "Doesn’t that hurt?" I asked again.

She nodded quickly, and then her eyes closed and she squeezed at her breasts, pinching the nipples quickly--mouth dropping open a little and her head rolling slowly from side to side with her rapid intake of breath. "But I like it--I want to be hurt. I want pain--" Her stomach began to tremor and she sucked it in, breathing fast and hard for a moment. She groaned softly then almost whimpered. Her hands went limp. I could see the faint sheen of sweat coming over her skin and face. She sighed.

"You came"? I asked.

"Oh, yes--" she said, nodding. "Small--it was not a big come for me."

She opened her eyes, heavy lidded, sleepy-looking. She smiled, showing those even small, teeth. She nodded again, pulling closed the silk robe over her reddened breasts.

"Are you going to be my lover for a long time, Jake?"

"I’m old enough to be your father and a half," I said.

"No! You are not serious--"

"Well, practically serious."

"That is not true. You are imagining that you are old or that I am so young like a little girl."

I said, "I’ll be fifty in July..."

"You’re a Cancer," she said. "Somebody with so many secrets. You are attracted to secrets...or you keep secrets. And you play games with people. You play with some people like toys because you are attracted to them but you can not stay with them... That is what I was told about Cancer people."

"That’s very observant of you," I said. "But what I am going to do with you?"

"I can accompany you to Japan!" she said. "I will be your geisha girl." I didn’t say anything and she said, "So perhaps you will not stay with me--but I am Cancer, too."

"You said you were a Capricorn," I said. "You and Jesus. Don’t you know when you were born?"

"That was because I like the song about Jesus being a Capricorn. But you are Cancer," she said, "and that makes you one of the people of the moon."

"And you’re my moon girl," I said.

She nodded. "I am the moon girl."

"You shine in the dark," I said, staring at her legs drifting open and closed. "I want to kiss you right now down there," I said. "Your sweet place where I’ve put my ‘thing’ into you. I want to taste you, Juju,"

"I want you to," she said, sinking back again. She stared at me intently as I pushed the robe away and ran my hands over the glass smooth thighs, feeling the faint fuzzy blonde, touching the mound of hair--a kind of thin shape like a short tornado disappearing into the pink folds between her legs. I bent and kissed her thighs and short soft hair. My tongue slid down between her legs as she spread her thighs and raised herself upwards on the edge of the seat.

Knees on the floor, I pressed my mouth to her, hungrily licking, sticking my tongue into her and forcing it to squirm in her. Coming again, she clutched at my hair, my head, pressing my face into her until I felt my upper teeth cutting into my lip.

"Bite me!" she said. "Bite me!"

I grabbed myself and pulled hard and fast while I opened my mouth around her cunt and let my teeth press into her as sucked the juices from her body until I felt my insides self-straining. Though I didn’t want to move, I had to roll my face away from her to breath.

Moments later I got up and slumped on the bed, my head falling back. She was looking down at herself and ran her hands down her stomach. She said, "You did not leave any teeth marks on my skin..." Her fingers into herself, massaging or feeling back and forth as if exploring it shape and depth. "That was nice, Jake, my dear. You made me come right away. Now you did not think I am too young to do that to me with your mouth, did you?"

"No," I said.

"Would you do that to me if I was only fourteen years old? What if I told you I am not seventeen but I am only fourteen years old?"

Raising my head, I looked at her. Her eyes were sparkling slightly and she had a funny little smile. "Are you only fourteen?" I asked. "If you are, I think we’d best reconsider my American brain."

"But if I am just as I am now?" she said. "If I am no different than I am now? Would you have said you could not eat me because I am only fourteen years old?"

I shook my head weakly. "You keep asking these perplexing--somewhat unnerving questions--unnerving in their unpredictability."

"I am sorry if I make you uncomfortable," she said.

"It would make me considerably more uncomfortable if you are telling the truth because it’s a legal matter." I said, "Even in Paris. We aren’t in Japan or Tangier. You should tell me if you’re fourteen years old."

"What would you do if I did tell you that?" she asked.

"I’m afraid I’d have to discontinue this relationship for the time being," I said. "For a few more years, at least."

She laughed. "Well," she said, "certainly I am not fourteen years old. "I am almost eighteen years old, in fact."

"When will you be eighteen?"

"This June," she said. "The end of it. I am a Gemini--but I am a Cancer, too, because I am in the middle.

"You just turning eighteen," I said.

"Yes. Does your American brain say that I am not old enough to be the girl of your dreams?"

"No," I said. "It doesn’t say that. It says I don’t have a girl of my dreams."

She was fingering herself and I was watching at her. "Then I am the girl of dreams..." she said, pulling open the robe again, the slick, silk material slithering against her skin. Her stomach tightened as her hands met on the insides of her thighs. She pulled apart the lips of her vagina--her belly moving slightly, sort of rolling, and her clitoris and fine muscles protruded slightly as the yellow stream trickled from her. "I am peeing," she said.

I didn’t move. She reached out, seized my hand and brought it beneath her crotch. Another stream, stronger, covered my hand with its wet heat. She dropped her head back and became to come again. The muscles in her neck stuck out like thin cords and her skin turned flushed pink. I cupped my hand against her as she pee'd and her whole body shook for a moment. She gasped and slumped almost lifeless.

As I stared at her breasts, my cock came up straight again. Her mouth was open, half-panting, and she crawled out of the chair and between my legs. Arms about my thighs, she took my cock into her mouth. A few deep strokes, swallowing me into her throat past the back of her mouth, and I coming. She fastened her mouth on me, sinking and sliding so deep her jaws pushed at my pubic bone. I came into her throat and had to push her head away.

Quiet for a few minutes, then she giggled and a little. Getting to her feet, she hurried to the bathroom while I lay back on the bed, my feet on the floor. I could still feel her in my toes and in the ends of my fingers.

If she was fourteen years old I’d be arrested. Maybe that’s why the inspector-character cop was tagging around. Worse, with scapegoat Mark in the ground, my ex-wife could file criminal charges against me in absentia...

Light in the flat went, then brighter, and darker again as sky changed colors through the gritty, overhead glass. Blue greens and yellow to a sap amber. I imagined a face in the age-blotched glass. A cat--a jaguar. Its front claws hooked to the metal ridge of the skylight, enough for its neck to stretch and the yellow eyes staring down at me.

Quickly, with a jerking reflex, I sat up and grabbed another bottle of wine and the corkscrew. She was doing something in the bathroom--the water running, I could hear her as I opened the knife blade, cut the metal seal from the top of the bottle and twisted the screw into the cock. Popping it out, I set the corkscrew on the credenza and tipped the bottle to my lips. There wasn’t any jaguar up there. Nor any sound of claws or nails on the metal or the glass. The jaguar was in my head.

"Are you coming back?" I called out. She said yes. The toilet flushed--a gurgling, rattling noise.

She floated back into the room, her face covered with some sort of white salve. Not just salve--though zinc-white in color like a clown in a pantomime, but also a white powder sprinkled down her breasts and stomach. The stark wedge of white skin glared out against the black robe. She was carrying a towel carefully folded.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I am your geisha girl," she said, then came quickly dragging her feet in short steps back with the towel extended in both hands. Squatting down, she started wiping at edge of the chair and the floor where she’d pee'd.

Staring at her as I took another drink, I said, "Japanese geishas get fucked a lot. Do you like to get fucked a lot?"

"Yes," she said. "I would like to get fucked. It makes me feel complete. I am whole when I am getting fucked. The harder I get fucked the more it makes me feel better."

"Do I fuck you hard enough?" I asked.

"No..." she said. "But that is not because of you, Jake, my dear. Because I remember how hard I can get fucked and nobody fucks me that hard. Only once--but I told you. He wasn’t nice. But he fucked me hard..."

She stopped her cleaning to place the towel against her face. "I smell my pee..." she said, herr eyes closing. She smelled more deeply, bunching the towel about her face. Then she seemed to have trouble breathing. Sudden gasps. I thought something was wrong. She sucked in her breath, trembling. Her face came around to me, her eyes wide and excited. She kind of fell against my legs, her hands feeling my bare skin, reaching for my cock and balls. She kissed and licked my thighs, running her hand up my chest.

Grabbing my hand and squeezing it, she bent my fingers toward my palm like a claw and scraped it across her chest. Her nipples jerked. She shocked me, slapping herself across the face. "Hit me!" she said. "Slap me!"

I swiped my hand her across the face as she slapped at her own breasts and bare thighs. "Choke me!" she said. I grabbed her neck and began squeezing it. It felt so small in my hands. "Use something to choke me!" She tore off the robe and wrapped one sleeve around her neck. She pulled at it with both hands, and I took it in my grip and applied pressure as she gasped for air.

Climbing up on her knees, she then reached across my arm to the credenza and seized the corkscrew--the blade was open. Taking it with the cork in her palm, she held the knife point between two fingers and instantly ran it across her skin on her lower ribs between her stomach and breasts. A find red line trailed the blade and quickly teardrops of blood trickled towards her crotch.

"Oh, look!" she said. "Look what I’m doing--it’s blood!" Again she streaked the blade on her body, this time from the other side, another angle--a wider cut across her chest. Blood came out of it instantly.

"Oh!" she cried out, running her other hand over her stomach and breasts, smearing blood on her cheeks and forehead, licking at her hand, lapping at the blood on her fingers. The sleeve dropping from her neck, she pressed her blood-smeared hand to my face. "Kiss it!" she said. "Taste it! Lick it--"

I got down on the floor with her--grabbed her hand and sucked on the bloodied fingers as she slashed the blade again across her stomach--this time deeper. The blood ran quickly, and the front of her torso was smeared with it. She smudged it over her belly and her thighs and onto my face, gasping almost uncontrollably.

"Lick it--it’s good! It’s good!" she squealed as I pressed my face to her breasts and stomach, running my mouth back and forth, sucking at the blood leaking out of the red lines across her body.

"I’m cutting! I’m cutting!" she cried, thrusting the blade into my hands. "I can’t stop coming! You do it! Do it--cut me!"

She scooted her bare ass back on the floor, drawing her legs up and apart, throwing her arms to the sides. She grabbed my hand and pulled me against her, twisting my wrist to push the knife point into her cunt. "Stick it in me! Stick it in me!" she cried. "Make blood come--You do it! Murder me!" She dug the tip of the blade into the flesh at the meeting of her upper thigh just on the edge of her lips.

Crying out in pain and gasping in orgasm--she pushed the tip of the blade went into. She cried out again and I quickly pulled it out, her blood following fast--dripping dark drops which she took into her hands and licked and pushed my face down to her crotch.

The blood was leaking into my mouth. I pressed my tongue to the slit she’d made and sucked in her blood. She dropped the knife and clutched my head--crying out all the while. Her silk robe tightened around my neck and she began pulling at it until I felt myself strangling.