Robert Karjel

A grunting nocturnal animal, a machine of flesh and blood who wasn__ ashamed of himself. But he never found redemption.

Grip had been hungry ever since the first youthful spots on his sheets. Wanting to try what others only fantasized about, finding his way to the fearless ones who laughed back, the ones who also wanted it. Games with new positions had started before the end of adolescence. Later: bruises, leather straps, and candles__nything that excited__n airplanes, in hotel elevators with the emergency stop button pushed.

He wanted to cut the man__ throat. Never in his life had he been so overpowered by such a desire to kill someone. It was a strange feeling, sweet and driven. In one leap he could be on him. His legs wanted to do it; they trembled with anticipation.