attractive woman in apron smiling holding a spatula
He didn’t know how or why—it just...happened one day.
He didn’t know how or why—it just...happened one day.
Jason Cole was working on finding a suitable picture for some newsletter or something. One of ten or twenty specific photos he would find that day. Same old thing he’d done a hundred times before. Looking through stock photos, this time for a cooking ad. The goal was basically to find a “mom-type” that was in the kitchen cooking. Quite stereotypical and sexist—but hey, stereotypical and sexist is what sells.
He needed find right just the right picture for the ad, article, email-thing he was working on. She had to be hot but homey too. The right balance between “mom-type” and fuckable model. He was about six pages into his first search (you normally don’t find the perfect picture on the first search, takes some refining of your search terms to really get what you need), and at 200 pictures per page, he’d probably seen over a thousand different women already. But then he found her. In a picture titled “attractive woman in apron smiling holding a spatula.” That was the first time he ever saw her.
And that first time was enough. It was her. He knew it. It was like a form a destiny or something.
He just...knew.
He was going to kill her.
Jason had never thought about killing someone before. He didn’t even have any of the red flags, none of those signs that means that he’s gonna end up killing someone someday. He was literally 0% violent, truth be told.
But something happened as soon as he saw the photo of the woman. The woman in the apron. Holding a spatula. Something clicked in his mind—broke in his mind to be more accurate.
She broke him.
It was such a simple picture, plain really. Nothing special about it. A very common kind of “kitchen-vibes” stock photo. Some of you have probably even seen it before, used in an ad or at the top of listicle on Buzzfeed or something. But it was the woman.
It was the woman.
As soon as he saw her! It was incredible. Just...this instinct, this need, this unholy desire to kill. It was like as soon as the thought had occurred to him, it was already over. No going back. As previously mentioned: destiny had something to do with it. Probably.
She had this wavy blonde hair and a smile you could get lost in. Her eyes weren’t that remarkable, kind of a dull brown. But the shape of them, especially the way that they were singing with the curve of her mouth and jaw in that smile, made them beautiful. He couldn’t wait to gauge them out.
Maybe.
He hadn’t actually decided yet on which way he was going to kill her. I mean, he’d only just come up with the idea to kill her only seconds ago. And there were so many options to choose from. He already knew that it wouldn’t be something like a gun, too quick. It just wasn’t personal enough. Guns were great for killing people (though Jason had never owned a gun—hadn’t even ever shot a gun!), but they were better used in wars or in self-defense. The gun was not the right instrument for this song.
Maybe stabbing? That could be good. He looked at the photo, at the woman, and imagined what it might feel like to plunge a knife (not a big butcher knife though, something medium-sized would probably be best) into her flesh. He imagined probably starting in her stomach and then maybe in the chest too, cutting through the meat of her breasts. But he would have to be careful not to touch the heart. If he was going to do this, he wanted at least to be able to savor the moment. To enjoy it, you know?
He figured that he would probably be arrested after he did it, and then spend the entire rest of his life in jail. He was not a trained killer. He had no plans on a getaway. He knew that he wasn’t going to go all Dexter on this bitch and lure her into a plastic-wrapped room so that he could get rid of all of the evidence when it was done. No. It would most likely be sloppy. And he would get caught—almost certainly he would.
But he was okay with that.
Actually, there was a pretty good chance he would just kill himself after it was all done. That was another thing that guns were good for. Maybe he would end up buying one, just for him.
Yeah. Killing himself after would probably be best.
But he was getting ahead of himself.
First he had to find the woman. And how the actual fuck was he supposed to do that? These stock photos aren’t like Instagram. They don’t tag the models in the pictures. They don’t list their names. Nothing like that.
But there is an option to view photos with the same model shot by the same photographer. So he started there.
Then he got lost in looking at all of the pictures of her. There were dozens from the kitchen photoshoot that he looked at, but then there were hundreds more of her in all kinds of stock-photo scenarios. When he found a photoshoot of her at a pool, wearing a small neon blue bikini, he jerked off and came in about ten seconds.
But then it was back to business.
He checked the photographer’s profile on the stock photo site (they were the only ones with profiles, nothing for the actual models). It turned out to be a company, not a single photographer, that specialized in making thousands—hundreds of thousands—of stock photos. They were based out of Indianapolis, Indiana. Or so said the profile bio. So there was a slight chance that the model also lived in Indianapolis, or some other city nearby.
But he knew he couldn’t just drive from Chicago to Indianapolis and start going up and down streets waiting until he found her. It might not have been as big of a city as Chicago was, but it was still a big enough population that he would likely never find her that way.
He had to narrow down the scope a bit more.
But how?
Jason tried copying some pictures of her and doing a reverse image search on Google, to see if maybe the woman had a model profile on some other site where he could find her name. Maybe she even reposted one of the pictures from the photoshoots and put it on her personal Instagram or something?
But the effort did not produce any results. The only thing that showed up in the searches were different articles and sites that had used the same stock photos.
So then he just started Googling all of the modeling agencies in and around Indianapolis. There were quite a few of them to look through. He would find an agency, go to their website, and then start looking through all of their modeling profiles. They didn’t always put the models’ full names in those profiles. Usually just a first name or nickname and the first initial of their last name. But even if he could just find that information, it would be a good breakthrough.
It had been about seven hours now since he first decided that he would find and kill this woman, and so far he hadn’t gotten fucking anywhere.
He started keeping a yellow legal pad by his computer, to write down the names of the agencies that he’d already checked, and any other thing he had checked too, so that he wouldn’t end up doing the same work twice. He would cross them off after thoroughly scanning the sites and verifying that the woman was not on them.
By about three o’clock in the morning he had three whole pages of lists and crossed off items.
Still no luck though...
How the actual fuck was this bitch not working with any of these agencies? Like, how the fuck was she getting work?
He went back to square one and checked the photographer profile back on the stock photo site. Tried to find a website for them. But of course they didn’t fucking have one. How the fuck do you not have a website?! If he did a Google search of them, it just came up with their profile on a bunch of other stock photo sites.
Next he had what he thought was a pretty fucking genius idea. He took some of the stock photos and made a fake Facebook profile for himself (living in Indianapolis instead of Chicago, of course) and tried building up the profile a bit, to make it seem more real, and to try to make the Facebook algorithms feed him suggestions of other people that lived in Indy. He friended a bunch of people. Followed some bars and local hot spots. Liked a bunch of stuff.
Then what he tried to do was post pictures from the stock photo site of the woman. He was hoping that Facebook might automatically tag the woman, or automatically give a tag suggestion, via their face-recognition black magic that they had there.
But still fucking nothing.
It was now the morning. The sun was beginning to rise and Jason’s eyes were dry and bloodshot. But he wasn’t tired. He was but the energy from his mission kept him awake. There was no sleeping until this was done. Until he found her at least. And then he could sleep.
He would want to be fully rested before making the journey to wherever she was and fulfilling his dream.
Jason got up from his desk for the first time in hours and felt a soreness in his legs and his ass bones. He paced around in his office for a bit, trying to think of some other avenue of possibly finding this chick's name. He went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. And then continued to pace around his entire apartment while he thought.
A few hours later he’d resorted to just doing a brute-force method of finding her. He got on Instagram, and just found Indianapolis and started looking through all of the posts that were tagged in that location.
Hours upon hours of endless scrolling. He looked through Indianapolis and every single surrounding town or city or landmark—anything that he a location tag and people were posting pictures with it.
When he closed his eyes, he could still see the Instagram feed scrolling by. Like it was burnt into his retinas or something.
Eight. Fucking. Hours.
Just before he was about to give up hope of ever finding her (and probably just killing himself), it fucking happened.
He’d had several fake-outs already where he thought that he found the woman, but it was just someone who looked a lot like her. So when he finally actually did find that glorious photo of her, posted at a popular historical site (and apple orchard!?) in a town called Conners Switch, and the excitement exploded inside of him and his heart started racing and his dick even got a little hard, he tried to temper the expectations.
Probably just another fake-out.
But he touched the picture, and it looked exactly like her. He went to her profile and looked at all of the other pictures in her feed. It was fucking her!
He found her!
His body was filled with so much energy and excitement that he had to stand up from his desk. He even did a little jump and pumped his fist.
“I fucking found you!” he said aloud to his phone, to the pictures of the woman...
The attractive woman in apron smiling, holding a spatula.
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