Class 9 homicidal necrophile !
This is really the fact to snuff I like. I like strangled guys, choked guys and guys who are shooted in the head while they were fucked. If I restrain my pulses it's because I don't want to go to jail or wasting my life.
This is paradoxical because me too I can't hurt animals or people in general, and I even I like to help people.
But I have always been paradoxical about my feelings and a lot of things. I couldn't kill someone in order to steal him, but I could snuff him during sex.
I think if the society disappeared like in post apocalyptic movies, or if murder became legal, I would become a very dangerous man for men I fuck or find attractive !
There seems to be something normal about these impulses, especially among homosexual men. There is one famous '80s horror film director who says (in discreet interviews) we have to embrace and celebrate this side of our sexuality.
The french call sex "le petit mort" (the little death) and one syndrome I refer to often is what went on during the battlefields of France during WW1 when thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of soldiers sometimes died in a single day. When perusing the carnage later, some soldiers and even officers reported being overwhelmed with a sexual "high" to point of even spontaneously ejaculating at the sight of acres and acres of dead and dying mutilated young male bodies, or returning to the barracks and compulsively masturbating to exquisite orgasms (and this is only the men who reported it, which had to be a fraction of the men who reacted similarly).
The gore and death were joyous. And deeply sexual.
Many of these men had never had sadistic sexual tendencies before, and many had never had conscious homosexual impulses. And for many, it changed their sexuality forever, and not always to their liking. Some were guilt-ridden, or found they could only climax with their wives if they visualized those battlefields, and I guess some adjusted to it, and for some it may have gone away at least intermittently.
But the sexual power of death and young men's bodies having been destroyed remained with them, opening them up to things they'd never thought about before.
I read one sweet story about an officer sent out to catch necrophiles in these battlefields, because it was such a common problem, when he found one young soldier he knew violently copulating with the eviscerated remains of another dead soldier. Walking over to the boy and squatting down, the boys looked up and, crying copious tears, made eye contact with the officer, but didn't slow up his thrust one bit. The officer took pity on the boy, placed his left hand on the small of his back, and felt the boy rise to orgasm. He never arrested the boy or reported the incident, having seen enough to explain to the young soldier (who seemed very disturbed by his own impulses and actions) to "not worry about it" and telling him that it's "something normal we don't understand."
for me, I had these feelings well up in me around age 16, seven years after I'd discoverd masturbation. (Dahmer said that was the same age for him, only he actually started killing things, animals and then people). From that age I started staying up nights drawing picture after picture of muscular, hung, beautiful guys being in various stages of dismemberment and disembowelment and decapitation, their dying bodies blowing huge loads of cum as they expired. I would draw with one hand, masturbate gently for hours with the other, filling my bedsie tumbler with piss and drinking it, recycling it all night long, eventually cumming with great satisfaction, loving the darkness, and loving the death, and loving that I was this perverted this early.
It actually seemed healthy to me. But how could it be?
Did I ever consider going out and committing a homicidal act? No, it never even crossed my mind. I had normal moral standards, and as Korauk says above, I would try and help anyone who was in trouble. And if I were a soldier, I would try to defend the lives of the men in my unit. But once they've passed away, something else kicks in, some other instinct. And it seems to be quite normal. Some kind of nearly universal benign pathology.
This is lame, but the closest I ever came to 'acting' on my necro desires was when I was in highschool science lab and we dissected cats one day. After cutting it open, we removed the fat layer which separates some organ from something else. I stuffed it my bag, took it home and masturbated with it, cumming like a crazed faggot, the intensity arising from the concept of the perversion itself as much as the physical sensation of the cats entrails all over my dong.
Otherwise I'm not into cats. But it's probably a good thing I don't know a mortician, and it's a shame as well.