The Collection

God she is beautiful. She lies there so still, her face glowing unnaturally from spray tan and tastefully applied make-up. Her outfit is perfect, a lavender silk blouse, black slacks, a conservative strand of pearls and modest three inch Gucci heels. Well it’s only fitting that she looks her best on this day. He has done a beautiful job preparing her. As the people start to arrive he flashes back to the last time he had dressed her.

The flashing lights and thumping bass had enveloped him as he danced slightly out of control. A drink in both hands he was slightly tipsy but still in control. He was dressed in his honeytrap outfit, Black, pinstripe Armani suit, pink shirt, pink and black tie, and patent leather boots. He looked down at his Rolex spilling one of his drinks. He had been told that this outfit was an aphrodisiac because it smelled like money. He smiled as he thought about how tailored his look was, from the suit, to the watch, to the drinks, he had one thing in mind, finding a young girl. He did a slow pirouette and scoped out the crowd. He saw lots of eyes and smiles but none that jumped out at him.

“Excuse me! You are spilling your drink on my shoes,” came a very feminine voice from behind him.

“What? I can’t hear you,” he replied, pointing to his ears even though he had heard her perfectly.

“Your drink!” she shouted while straightening his arm so that his rum and coke would stop dripping out.

 As she helped him with his drink he appraised her. She certainly was trying hard with an expensive looking black BCBG dress, an attractive gold chain with a large emerald pendant that matched her green eyes and nice Jimmy Choo’s on her feet. But it was all an illusion, the dress was either not hers or from an outlet because it was at least two sizes too big and the shoes were from four years ago, almost ancient. The kicker though was her face, she had attempted to match her eye shadow to her pendant and in the process had turned herself into a stereotypical drag queen. Even her natural olive skin was of tint by the foundation she had chosen.  She’s perfect he thought.

“Would you like a drink?” he half said, half pantomimed to her. Then he grabbed her hand and led her towards the bar without waiting for an answer.

“Two shots of patron and two rum and cokes,” he shouted to the bartender. He grabbed the drinks and led her back to his private booth.

She didn’t say anything but he could see the question in her face, how he had a booth in the packed club?

He pulled her in close as they sat down and whispered, “I am a very silent partner in the club and my one perk is this booth. My name is Brenton, Brenton Woodhouse.”

“Suzie Salvador.”

“Well Salud, Suzie,” he said while raising his shot of patron. They clinked glasses and downed it.

“What kind of business are you in Brenton?” she asked him, her voice sounding breathless.

“I am a collector.”

“Well your collections must do very well,” she said while her eyes roamed over his outfit.

“Would you like to see part of it? Most of my pieces are on display elsewhere but I have a few of my favorites at my studio.”

The gleam in her eye betrayed just how eager she was to see his things.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the back of the club.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“No, we are going out the special owner’s door. I hate to take you out in front of all those wolves stuck in line.”

They strolled together casually bumping their arms and legs into each other. He casually guided her out of the club into a parking area with just one car in it.

“Is that yours?” she asked pointing at a nondescript, beige Toyota Sienna.

“Yes it is. I love all the room for when I need to move pieces around. That and no one ever hassles me like they did when I used to drive my Bentley around.”

The drive to his studio was quiet but the air crackled faintly with sexual tension.

He parked the minivan in the studio’s cramped single car garage and led her up the stairs.

“Your studio isn’t in the neighborhood I expected,” she said, clutching her coach bag closer to her side.

“Well this was the only neighborhood that had a building that matched my needs.”

They came to a large metal door which he unlocked with a series of four keys before leaning his shoulder into the door to push it open.

They entered in to a small suite of rooms. He led her directly to a closet, “let’s see if I have anything that will suit you.”

“Why do you have all of these women’s clothes?”

“Oh many of them came with my collection pieces and I’ve come to find I enjoy the dressing of a woman. Here let me pick an outfit out for you,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

“Please do,” she said seductively while slowly unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the ground.

He looked into the closet and pulled out a near twin to the dress she had been wearing except this one glistened with manmade emeralds sewed into the bodice. He passed the dress to her noticing her nicely maintained pubic hair.

She slipped it over her head, “Ahh this fits so perfectly. How did you know?”

“My hobby is dressing bodies.”

She slinked over to him and put her arms around him whispering, “Is there any place here where we can get more comfortable?” After whispering she pulled his face down to her’s and kissed him long and slow.

“I have a wonderful bedroom right on the other side of my studio,” he whispered conspiratorially as he pulled his face free.

He quickly led her up another flight of stairs to a huge oak door. He pulled the door open with an ominous creak.

“Welcome to my passion,” he said, giving a small bow to usher her inside. As she walked forward he turned back and locked the door with a key.

The entire floor was one enormous room. The ceiling was mere shadows twenty or more feet above them. Each wall was covered in spotlighted items.

Suzie walked forward to get a better view of the wall. As she walked new lights illuminated floor cases. She stopped to examine one of these, “What kind of animal did these bones come from?”

He glanced down at the gilt covered bones, each one covered in a different type of precious metal. “Hmmm, this display is named after my favorite breakdancer, it’s called Crazylegs.”

He pulled her forward towards his favorite piece. “This is a piece inspired by Damien Hirst.”

As the lights turned on he saw her eyes widen, “That’s a human skull.”

He glanced down at the skull and admired the way that it had been painted to resemble the tribal tattoos of the Maori but without any flesh. “If you look closely at the back of the skull you can see how the artist was not quite able to cover up the bullet hole that was the cause of death.”

“Is your entire collection bones?” she asked her voice quavering slightly.

“Oh no I also have some very fine refrigerated cases to keep flesh tapestries and even a pair of bodies forever locked in the mating process,” he said calmly.

“I think I’m ready to go now.”

“Yes, I guess it is time to start. Did you know that this is not only my collection but also exclusively my work?”

She turned to run but he quickly clapped his hands turning off all the lights.

“Running is really not necessary, my dear. The doors are locked and there are no windows.”

He could still hear her stumbling around. He calmly walked after the noise pulling a syringe from his pocket as he sauntered. “This won’t hurt at all you know.”

“Why are you doing this? Why me?”

“You are the perfect canvas my dear, that’s why. I enjoyed dressing you earlier but now I want to have a little more artistic freedom with your skin and bones,” as he talked he quietly reached her and plunged the syringe into her neck.

How exquisite her skin is, no tattoos, piercing, blemishes, or even stretch marks, an unmarked opportunity. He carefully stripped the dress off and prepared her to be placed outside. He loved his neighborhood for its isolation and because no one ever questioned bodies being found there.

He carried her down the stairs and carefully loaded her into the Sienna. Opening his garage doors he saw dawn was just starting to pinken the horizon. Better hurry he thought. He drove quickly but calmly away from his studio. Ah that alley is perfect. He pulled over slid to the back of the van and dumped the naked girl out.

“Okay Mr. Woodhouse, here are all of the unclaimed bodies from the city morgue thank you so much for agreeing to have services for them,” an assistant coroner said to him barely looking up from the paperwork he was filling out.

“No problem and of course I will also cremate them and keep the ashes in storage in case you are able to identify them in the future.”

Well my dear let me freshen you up and then once the formalities are done I can finally fulfill all the dreams your creamy tan skin has inspired in me.