Killer Women (17 page)

She was horrified to discover that her ex-lover was the serial killer being hunted in Florida. But she still didn’t know what to do until two police officers came knocking at her mom’s front door. Soon she was singing to the police to try to help them catch Aileen before she murdered once more.

Sgt Bruce Munster of the Marion County Sheriff’s office may have tracked down Moore. But he still hadn’t got anywhere near to finding Wuornos.

She was a killer on the loose – liable to strike again at any time. In any place.

It was time to spread the net and begin random
surveillance
at the sort of Daytona Bars where she might just hang out. One of those bars was The Last Resort.

For more than a week, the two bikers sat and watched Aileen sinking further and further into alcoholic oblivion.

They hoped she might leave the bar and lead them to the bodies of some of those men. But she never did. Too sodden with beer to even think about those victims she picked up and slaughtered out there on the highways of Florida.

Instead, she played her two favourite records ‘Leather and Lace’ and ‘Digging Up Bones’ on the juke box over and over again.

They were like the two theme tunes to her life, soon coming to an end.

On 9 January, 1991, Aileen Wuornos was arrested by the two bikers – plain clothes policemen – and charged with first degree murder.

Dick Mills – the man who shared five days of lust with her just a few weeks before – is probably one of the luckiest men alive today.

Aileen Wuornos admitted the murders of Siems and Mallory. She was also accused and found guilty of the murder of at least five other men. She is currently sitting on Florida’s death row.

As they kissed each other full on the lips, she pushed her tongue deep into his mouth. Then she felt his hands pulling and squeezing her breasts through the
tight-fitting
silk blouse she was wearing. His forefinger and thumb were expertly tweaking the firm, acorn-shaped nipples which peeped through the cream-coloured lace bra. The newly-weds were about to make the ultimate commitment on the first night of their marriage.

Then they fell back on to the vast king-size hotel bed and lay there locked in a passionate embrace. She was starting to relax with a man for the first time in her life. She had always promised herself that she would not make love until she had found the perfect partner. Now that dream was coming true – and it was proving to be just as amazing as she had hoped.

She stroked him gently. He winced slightly at first and she pulled her hand away momentarily. Then he guided her back almost immediately and smiled at her. It was a look of reassurance. He wanted her to continue her exploration.

Their hearts were throbbing in tune with each other. She stroked him and coaxed him once her hand had got used to the feel of the silky naked flesh. He moaned with pleasure. It was like music to her ears. For the first time in her life she was leading a man on and she adored the sensation of knowing that she could make him sigh with ecstasy at the very touch of her hand.

She knew it was the right time. After all, he was the man who had promised to honour her ‘’til death us do part’. She could not wait to feel him making love to her, lovingly, knowingly, sensitively.

He had always seemed to enjoy every single moment of passion they shared, even when she denied him the opportunity to perform the ultimate act until they were married. Now she was giving him
more pleasure than he had ever thought possible.

Sometimes in the past, he had sought out the services of local prostitutes because he felt frustrated by her refusal to make love. He convinced himself that he was doing her a favour by going with the street walkers because it stopped him from feeling the urge to ravage her, despite her protests.

Strangely, he found that paying for sex had been rather satisfying because it required no effort. He would often leave his wife-to-be at her parents’ house, having achieved only a lingering kiss on the doorstep. Minutes later, he would be crawling the kerbs of the nearby red-light district looking for a suitable sex partner. Ironically, his beautiful bride’s sex ban had driven him into the arms of dozens of other ‘riskier’ women. The strange thing was that he felt no guilt about having sex with the prostitutes. They provided a service which he was more than happy to take advantage of.

Most of the girls were gaudily dressed, humourless females who considered their job to be a form of self-inflicted torture that had to be endured because it helped to pay the rent and cover the cost of clothing their children.

However, there was one particular favourite who was not like the rest. She was at least forty years old with long, dark, flowing hair which successfully hid the giveaway lines which so often appear around the
face and upper neck. He had found her attractive the first time he saw her and he tried desperately to find her each time he came looking for a woman.

It was not just her looks that he found so satisfying. She had an experienced eye. She had been a street walker for more than twenty years yet she spoke in a way that you would not expect from a lady of the night. She summed him up perfectly the first time they met. ‘You don’t get it at home, do you?’

He did not reply but his silence was confirmation of the facts.

She had a certain wisdom about her. She never made him feel dirty or guilty and she liked to talk and laugh. It was that sense of humour that set her apart from the rest.

There was also a hidden bonus. During the months that he went to her, she began to teach him things about sex that he never knew existed. In a weird way, it helped him to prepare for that first night with the girl he had just married.

The heat in the hotel bedroom was intense on that first night of their marriage. Outside it was around eighty-five degrees. Inside, it must have been close to one hundred. The sweat that covered both of their bodies made it seem even more exciting. He loved the way his hand slipped across her ample breasts. She adored the stickiness of his hairy thighs as she stroked him.

The more foreplay they engaged in the more she found her sense of enjoyment increasing. She had had no idea that making love would be as good as this. All the earlier tension and fear had long since subsided. In its place was a floating sensation. Just one spark would be enough to send her shuddering to a climax. But there was so much more to be done.

The sheets on the bed had long since slid off in the heat of their passion. Their slippery, sweating bodies were glistening in the neon light of the flashing hotel sign just outside their window.

She kept fighting the urge to have him inside her because she wanted to experience every other pleasure first. She ran her mouth down to his nipple and bit sharply. He smiled to himself for a moment; it was exactly what his favourite prostitute used to do on each occasion they had sex. Thinking about that other woman increased his pleasure even further.

He grabbed her wrist and tried to stop her but she carried on relentlessly, pushing and pulling. Then he grabbed her wrist really tight and she pulled her hand away in pain.

‘That hurt.’

He did not reply but smiled back at her and began to make love. She felt a twinge of pain as he entered her and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. She had an uncomfortable feeling about the agony he had just inflicted.

All the pleasure subsided from her body and she just lay there pretending to moan as he grunted into her neck. Her head was turned to one side and she looked out at that flashing sign through the window and wondered why he was making absolutely no effort to kiss her on the lips.

The first few months of marriage were fairly uneventful for Jean-Louis and Patricia Orionno. He worked hard in the day at his job in the bank and she kept their flat in the pretty French town of Doubs immaculately clean for when he got home each evening.

Patricia did not really know what to expect from marriage. She often used to think back to that first night of their honeymoon and wonder if she had somewhat overreacted to his one small sign of brutality towards her. She worried about it because, ever since that incident, she had never come anywhere near an orgasm during relentless nights of torrid sex with Jean-Louis.

She had tried to talk to her mother about it one morning when she was at her house but the only information she could gather from her mother was a deep-set distrust of men in general; in the eyes of her mother most men were lusty animals who expected sex whenever and wherever they wanted it. Women were the victims who simply had to open their legs and obey their master’s every command.

Patricia was shocked by her mother’s opinion. It made married life sound so depressing. Why on earth hadn’t she told her daughter all this before she walked up the aisle?

‘Well. You have to get married, don’t you?’

It was, as the French say, a fait accompli. However, that was not good enough for Patricia. She wanted more than just a servant–master relationship from her marriage. She also wanted to learn how to enjoy sex rather than feeling as if she were being hit by a battering ram each time he forced himself upon her.

The main problem was that Jean-Louis was more interested in his own satisfaction. Certainly, he had tried to excite her in various ways but she always felt as if he was just going through the motions. It was as if he felt obliged to make her feel a little excited before the actual act of sex. As all women know, however, there is a lot more to passion than just a token gesture of foreplay.

One night, Patricia tried to stop Jean-Louis from just jumping on top of her and he got very angry. ‘Why are you stopping me? I have a right. You are my wife.’ In those words lay the root of all her problems. He considered sex as something his wife should never refuse. If she did not want it then she was expected just to lie there and pretend to enjoy it so that he could get his own dose of satisfaction.

Poor Patricia had not even had the pleasure of a
full, uninhibited orgasm. She was fed up with reading about all the wonders of sex in women’s magazines. She wanted to enjoy it for herself

They appeared such an attractive couple and seemed so much in love but beneath that veneer of happiness lay a frustration with life so deep that it was tearing Patricia apart. To make matters even worse, she had no one to tell about her problems. Instead, she bottled up the anger and bitterness. It was a vicious circle. She rapidly lost all the vitality and charm which had made her so attractive to
Jean-Louis
in the first place. In their stead was a seething bitterness with the role she was playing in his life.

Jean-Louis worked so hard at his job at the local bank that he did not even notice his wife’s change of attitude. He was happy just as long as he ate good food, drank good wine and enjoyed lustful sex.

His idea of a dream evening was to walk in from work, smother his wife with kisses, lift up her skirt and make love to her on the kitchen table. That would be followed by a wonderful four-course meal washed down with a subtle claret and maybe a cognac to round things off. Then he would retire to the bedroom where he would blow garlic encrusted fumes all over his attractive wife’s body as he crushed her under the full weight of his passion.

Unfortunately, Patricia got more satisfaction out of seeing him enjoying her cooking than through
any of his demands in the bedroom. And things were going to get worse and worse.

As the months of marriage turned into years, the couple’s inability to produce any offspring seemed to increase Jean-Louis’s sexual appetite. It was as if he was trying to prove his masculinity by forcing himself on her every single night. However, it was not just a ten-minute grope in bed that he was expecting. As he stepped up his demands for more sex, he did what many husbands do and began trying to make his wife ‘experiment’.

As a rule, both parties have to be in complete agreement if the question of unusual sexual practices arises. Experts say that you can do what you like within the four walls of your own home just as long as both partners are prepared to explore new boundaries.

Patricia was not even consulted by her husband when he decided she should be handcuffed to their four-poster bed and whipped. He just forced her down on the mattress one night and – gripping her wrists just as he did on their honeymoon – he spread her arms and her legs wide apart and attached the cuffs to the bedposts. She began to wonder how many times he had done this to other women.

As she lay face down on the bed, she was thankful for only one thing; she did not have to see his drunken, glazed eyes feasting on her as he whipped and abused her body. Patricia’s sexual unhappiness
had turned into real torture which would ultimately prove too much of a burden to tolerate.

If Patricia had had someone to pour out her feelings to, then the mounting anger and bitterness might not have reached such a dangerous climax. She was living on the edge. Each time he came near her she shuddered but she had to let him do whatever he wanted to because she was afraid of being punished really severely or even worse, losing the home she had spent so much time and energy creating.

What hurt her most was the emotional torture of knowing that her own husband did not care how much he abused her body. His idea of sexual satisfaction seemed to be to damage her body and force her to degrade herself by performing sick, perverted acts too unpleasant to publish in any detail here.

Patricia’s daytime hours were like a temporary escape from the monster who ruled her life with a rod of iron. She would often cry for hours and hours at the kitchen table each morning. Eventually, however, those tears were replaced by a new determination. She could not take much more of it. It would soon be her turn to make him suffer.

Patricia crushed the white sleeping tablets and mixed them into the meat pie. She wanted to make sure there was absolutely no sign of them when he devoured the dish on his return from work that evening. She reckoned that twenty pills would
probably be enough but she added a further ten just for good measure.

As Patricia stirred the thick stew of meat and gravy, she felt a surge of happiness for the first time in months. He had driven her to these desperate measures. The previous night he had left her tied to the bed for hours while he whipped her and then performed the most dreadful sexual act she had ever experienced in her entire life. When he was finished doing that, he insisted on what he considered to be perfectly normal love-making, but the love had long since disappeared for Patricia; it was just adding to her misery. He did it for hours and hours. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep, in so much pain that she wondered how she would even be able to get up the next morning.

However, Jean-Louis had the answer to that problem. As the early-morning sunlight poured through the bedroom window, he pushed and prodded her until she woke and then performed yet more sex. The pain barriers had long since been bypassed by a numbing feeling that comes when you just don’t care any more.

Back in the kitchen on that cold winter’s night in early 1988, Patricia could feel the pain each time she moved. It was a constant reminder of the suffering he had caused her. It had also persuaded her to murder him.

Jean-Louis arrived home an hour later and all but ignored her. His only concern was to pull the cork on a bottle of his favourite red wine and start drinking. Patricia was delighted that her husband was being as uncaring as ever. She didn’t want any doubts about her plans to kill him and she knew that if he showed her any caring attention then she might feel a twinge of guilt.

As her bullying, perverted husband tucked into his meat pie, he looked like a man without a care in the world. No doubt he was contemplating more sick sex later that evening. He was already treating Patricia worse than the prostitute who had taught him so much all those years ago.