Around nine o'clock that evening, a few years ago, we met for the first time. Because of eagerness, excitement about our plans, we didn't stay at the bar long. "Come on," he said, tugging at my sleeve, and I found myself following.
 
Death was always a preoccupation of mine. Even though I know I should have resisted, we had been planning this online for some time, and something in me couldn't hold back.
 
Finally, we arrived at our pre-selected "play-spot." Getting out of the car, I noticed him stretching slowly, deliberately, as if hoping I was watching. He had a nice body, tapering down to the waist the way I like, and not too skinny like so many people are these days. In spite of myself, I found him cute -- not just physically, but in the ways he subtly tried to get my attention. Jack, he said his name was.
 
"Killing is different from murder," he had told me in the car. "Lust has something to do with it, okay, I'll admit it, but I'm not your garden-variety sadist. Murder is when you kill someone who doesn't deserve it. Not to sound like I'm self-justifying," he continued, breathing sweet smoke in my face, "but some people really do deserve it."
 
On one hand, he sounded crazy, but if I was honest with myself, I felt essentially the same way. Plus, I was curious about how it felt, and now about him, too...
 
Quietly, after leaving the car, we sneaked across a fallow field before slipping into the forest. "Raping a rapist," he grinned at me, "is the best fun, short of murdering a murderer. Stuff gets really wild when you get ahold of a guy who's both."
 
"The difference between me and them," he continued after a pause, "is I have real emotions, I'm plugged in, man. Unlike them, I've got standards."
 
Violence, outside of fantasy, was never part of my life before that night. When I look back on it, how our relationship began, it amazes me how easily I slipped into his arms, into his lifestyle, into his so-called crimes. Xyresic wit, personality, and ethics drew me in, and the truth of his words -- that he has empathy, and standards -- kept me. Yes, he's a killer, and I love him.
 
Zealotry never felt so good.