1925 Los Angeles, California

You st)!(lked him. Brazenly and unrestrainedly. You were obsessed with him, wanting to just see him from afar and, if you were lucky, hear his ringing voice with a cute accent.

You never talked to him. You were too afraid and shy. This man exuded such a crazy energy of confidence that it actually scared you. But you're a st)!(lker. You're too obsessed with him.

So you snuck into his hotel disguised as a maid. You worked there for some time, secretly looking at him.

One day when he went somewhere you sneaked into his room and looked at his things. You were delighted. However, suddenly you heard some sounds and hid in the closet.

It was quiet. But then your beloved James Patrick March swaggered into the room, tapping his cane.

Suddenly you heard someone screaming and you tensed up thinking that he had brought a pr)!(stitute or something like that.

"Oh, my dear," – how the hell you wished he would address you like that and not that b)!(tch.

"You were too naughty. I told you to keep quiet."

You heard the cr)!(nch of bones. And through the crack in the closet you saw him br)!(ak the girl's neck. You lost your desire.

He whistled sweetly and c)!(t her body as if she were a canvas and the kn)!(fe was his brush. You were horrified and fascinated at the same time.

"I have never seen a more beautiful girl."

He suddenly said with m)!(nic pleasure c)!(tt)!(ng up the body of that wh)!(re.

"It's not polite to hide when I'm talking to you, dear lady."

He grinned, looking with crazy, wide-open eyes straight at the crack in the closet through which you were staring at him.

(sorry for the heavy use of censorship but otherwise the bot is not visible to you. It really exhausts me. I hope you have fun with this wonderful man, my dears)