From behind his polished wooden desk, Vincent stared at his coworkers bustling by. He waited eagerly for her, his one true love. Finally, the door flung open, and in walked a petite woman with bright blue eyes wearing a short, orange sundress. Vincent perked up and cleared his throat in preparation to speak.

“H-h-h-h…” Unable to greet the woman, Vincent sighed and slouched behind his computer screen. He watched as the woman’s curly brunette locks bounced with each step she took. I just have to talk to her. She is the love of my life, the woman of my dreams, he thought. But how?

As Vincent brainstormed, he caught the woman investigating her whereabouts, as if to make sure no one was watching her. Assuming the coast was clear, the woman pulled a brown paper bag out of her big, red purse and shoved it into the bottom drawer of her desk. Vincent squinted but couldn’t make out what the woman concealed. He decided then that if he was ever going to get close to her, he had to find out what she was hiding. After everyone leaves tonight, I will pry her desk drawer open and find out what’s inside, he thought.

For the rest of the day, Vincent remained fixated on the clock in the upper right-hand corner of his computer screen, counting down every minute, every second, until finally the clock struck 5:00 p.m. He peered over his computer screen and watched his coworkers — including his love — pack up and shuffle out of the office.

After about 10 minutes, the office was eerily silent, and Vincent could hear himself breathing — inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. He crept toward the wooden desk sitting parallel to his across the room.

Ahh, Jaimi, my love, Vincent thought, and rubbed his fingers across the name tag hiding between two stacks of paper. He crouched down next to the drawer that held Jaimi’s bag and pulled a paper clip out of his pocket — when Vincent was 10 years-old, his brother taught him how to unlock a drawer using nothing but a paper clip.

The desk drawer opened with minimal effort. Inside lay the brown paper bag and nothing else — not even a speck of dust. Vincent picked up the bag and peeked inside. Oh my gosh! He jumped up, spilling the contents all over the floor.

Vincent stood there, eyes wide open, staring at the items now lying in front of him — a pink strap-on dildo, a human eyeball, a metal spork and a small photo album, all of which were covered in blood, mucus and brain remnants.

After the initial shock wore off, Vincent knelt down and picked up the photo album titled “Friends.” Each page in the album contained a photo of a different man, dead with ripped-out eyeballs and penetrated eye sockets. Vincent gasped, realizing this was the work of Jaimi, his one true love. Not knowing what else to do, Vincent shoved the items back into the brown paper bag and threw them into the desk drawer. He ran out of the office and into the hallway.

Vincent leaned over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air, trying to make sense of what he saw. And then it hit him — Jaimi was a serial killer, who used a metal spork to dig out the eyeballs of more than a dozen men before brutally fucking their eye sockets, causing extreme brain trauma and eventually death.

This surprisingly excited Vincent, and while he was still in the hallway, he unbuttoned his pants, reached into his underwear and grabbed his throbbing, erect penis. He stroked his cock, and grunted aloud until jizz squirted out and down the side of his leg. Tomorrow, my love. Tomorrow…

The next morning, Vincent watched as his coworkers filed in. Jaimi walked in about five minutes later than usual, carrying a small cup of coffee in her left hand. She immediately noticed someone had been snooping through her desk drawers. Panicking, she grabbed the brown paper bag and rushed into the unused mailroom. Vincent followed.

“It was me,” Vincent said, upon entering the dimly lit mailroom.

“W-What? What are you talking about?” Jaimi asked, hiding the bag behind her back.

“I went through it. I love you, Jaimi,” Vincent exclaimed. He walked closer to Jaimi, reaching out to take her hand in his.

“I…” Jaimi stuttered, not knowing how to respond. She held the bag in front of her now, focusing her eyes on it.

“It’s okay, Jaimi. I love you. I love you so much, I want to be one of your men. I want to be one of your friends,” Vincent said.

“I don’t know… I just don’t…” Before Jaimi could finish her sentence, Vincent had ripped out his right eyeball with his bare hands. He threw it on the floor in front of her feet.

“Please, Jaimi. I love you,” He exclaimed, with blood running down his cheek.

Now, Jaimi could not control herself. She wasted no time pulling the pink strap-on dildo up over her thighs and around her waist. She ran two fingers across the opening of her dripping wet vagina, and rubbed the juices across her long, firm dildo. She grabbed Vincent by the ears and pulled his head nearer.

Jaimi shoved the dildo into Vincent’s eye socket and thrusted back and forth. Vincent groaned, reached into his pants and stroked his now fully erect cock. The harder Jaimi thrusted, the harder Vincent stroked. Blood and mucus-like liquid covered the dildo.

After a while, Vincent let out one last scream, “I LOVE YOU, JAIMI!” He then grunted, squirted jizz all over the inside of his pants and fell over, dead.

Jaimi pulled out her iPhone and snapped a photo of Vincent, lying on the floor in fetal position with one hand still in his pants, and blood and brain remnants oozing out of his eye socket. She rubbed her clit until she orgasmed over top of Vincent; then packed up her belongings — including Vincent’s right eyeball — and left the mailroom, never to be seen again.