The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [33]
You asked about a sense of power. I think everyone feels that when having sex, be it with male or female. The power to bring someone off with your tongue is wild, as you have control over setting off their ejaculation, kind of like the power you have when beating it, you can bring it up and stop and hold off and then wait and bring it up again. Thats wild and to be honest with you I could even see doing it to you and having a lot of fun or even with you and your girlfriend getting both of you off without either of you touching the other.
I loved wild parties. I think that when you have had an older woman you tend to want to control the younger one in doing what you want. What do you think? Older women like young toy boys as they call them. And its not the size of the ship, its the motion of the ocean. As anyone can fuck. Most like cut cocks circumcised. I am just 7” as I have been asked that many times, cut with a large head.
This portion of the letter struck me as significant in many ways. It was the first time he’d made any reference to involving me in one of his sexual ideas or thoughts. And he’d referred to me as a “toy boy,” a term for a good-looking guy, sometimes a male prostitute, who gets what he wants by using his body.
In future letters, Gacy began addressing me as “toy boy,” sometimes as an endearment, other times in a derogatory fashion. If I had any doubts that he was now thinking about me in a sexual way, his interest was confirmed when he asked for various photos of me posing in suggestive ways. Since there was a limit to what I’d do to keep him engaged, I merely sent him a few standard pictures.
He also brought up my brother again. “You mention your brother with no name or photo,” he said. “I would think if your close then share that and give him a name. . . . Say hi to your brother tell him to stay with it [playing baseball], but enjoy life as well.”
I was sitting on the porch one day, rereading these very words and reviewing other letters—much the way a miser savors his gold—when Jarrod arrived home from school. It was a perfect autumn day in the desert: cool, clear, bright sun. Jarrod had just gotten off the bus.
“Hey,” I called out to him, “I want to talk to you about something.”
“What did I do now?” he asked, only half joking. By my tone of voice, he thought he might be in trouble.
“Gacy has been asking about you,” I said.
“What do you mean he’s been asking about me?” he choked out.
“I think he has some sort of interest in you.” For a moment, I wondered if I should have said anything. Jarrod looked sick.
“It might be innocent,” I continued, “but I’m getting the impression he’s going to want to get to know you better in the future.”
“Jason,” he begged, “please don’t get me involved in this stuff. That guy’s a freak. He kills people for a living!”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I’ve been thinking. What if I had you copy a letter to Gacy in your own handwriting so I—”
“No way. I’m not gonna—”
“Jarrod! Listen to me! You don’t have to do anything except copy a letter I’m going to write. It needs to be in your handwriting. That’s all you have to do. Nothing else.”
“No way,” he said, more firmly than I’d ever heard him.
I knew, though, that I could win him over if he’d just get into the spirit of the game.
“Listen to me,” I pleaded. “I just want to play with him a little. If he thinks it’s you writing, he’ll tell you things he wouldn’t tell me. It would give me two different sources of information I can cross-check.”
Jarrod looked very skeptical but I could see he was listening.
“Besides,” I said with a smile, “it’ll be fun to fool him together.”
I vowed to be very careful with Jarrod because I didn’t want him to get hurt in any way. Such was my naiveté at the time that I figured I could control Gacy—send him like a rat through a maze