Ann Rule Deconstructed, Prison Version 2.0

This new story was just published and is available for $4.99 as an e-pub or PDF. It contains more than 80 photographs (most in color) and 480 pages. Adults Only due to explicit sexual content.

WARNING: Ann Rule Deconstructed exposes book author Ann Rule to be a fraud, liar, and fiction writer. To accomplish this it was absolutely ncessary to relate the harsh, truthful details about:

A petite, movie star beautiful medical doctor in Portland, Oregon has a disturbing practice of permanently branding her male sex partners; A runner-up Miss Oregon becomes a very successful, high-end money-for-sex escort earning more than $3,000,000.00 in cash in 30 months; A Playmate of the Year gorgeous married Seattle trial attorney becomes a full partner and head of litigation for the Garvey Schubert & Barer law firm, and while still being a nursing mother to her 4-month old son, experiences the greatest sexual fantasy of her life with a major male porn star in an all afternoon tryst at the Seattle Hilton; A strikingly beautiful woman and member of American MENSA who works as a second grade elementary school teacher enjoys a surreal but secret life as a full-on couples swinger in Bellevue, Washington; a Summa Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa tall beauty seeks psychological counseling during her divorce and ends up in a SEXUAL AFFAIR with her treating psychiatrist; and more.

AVAILABLE NOW for $4.99 on and all other e-pub vendors; and as a PDF file on

NOTE: This book is NOT recommended for any individual who suffers from SEXUAL REPRESSION or is unable to read graphic descriptions of consensual sexual relations between adults without becoming offended.

Excerpts from Ann Rule Deconstructed


Boys’ Letter to Oregon Parole Board, June 1995 concerning that they were not allowed to testify as my alibi witnesses at my criminal trial (they were cut-off from any further contract with me after they sent this letter to the Parole Board).

Handwritten notes of Detective Jerry Finch documenting his interview on 9/26/86 of Travis confirming my alibi for Cheryl’s murder. These handwritten police notes have the indicia of reliability in court, but Judge Timothy Alexander denied me showing them to either the boys to refresh their recollection or the jury to confirm my alibi (Def. Exhibits 159, 160 and 161). Further, the Judge would not let me even submit them as an offer of proof (for appeal). His clerk entered the words “discovery violation” on the court register, which was false.

FINCH’S INTERVIEW NOTES CONFIRMED MY ALIBI Signed statement of State contracted tow-truck driver Harley Collins indicating Cheryl may have been murdered by State police Detective Finch, who had told him they were dating.

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Chapter 14 Diversions

JUMPING BACK IN TIME A LITTLE, for recreation, and as a reprieve to the hedonistic and adventurous swinging scene, Joan Huston and I frequently took road trips. Admittedly, I initially organized these types of trips because I had another agenda. Later, they became one of our priorities.

If there was a chink in the armor of my relationship with Joan, it was her drinking. Alcohol could and would, change her personality. Sometimes it was okay, and then other times it was a very bad thing. This did not mean I loved her any less; it was a red flag, early on. Despite my complete inexperience with alcoholism, I recognized it as a problem we should try to avoid. Intentionally, I began to steer-away from any social plans or situations, which guaranteed the potential for heavy alcoholic consumption. One of the diversions I came up with was to take road trips to incorporate Joan’s interest in exploring, and my interest in camping/hunting.

Joan was never a prissy, don’t-get-me-dirty girl. We would wash ourselves in mountain streams, cook on campfires, and eat the wild game I killed, or caught. Several times we both took juniper (pine and tamarack too) smoke baths as well. She enjoyed our remote trips to explore not only small towns, but also especially old abandoned homesteads. Deserted farms, especially those in remote areas, usually presented the most fascinating glimpse of the human struggle.

These road trips required us to drive 3 to 5 hours (sometimes longer) across the state in our VW camper van. There was never a road trip we took that was not interrupted by at least one, maybe two, ‘[perceived] emergency’ pull-over to have rip-your-clothes-off sex in the van, and even once or twice, outside in the woods, even on the ground. We joked about how pathetic we were, completely unable to resist the urge to fuck. These were great times.

To digress: I should add, that car-sex with Joan was not only limited to long trips across the state. At least twice, while married, living in Bellevue, we were busted by the local police for heavy petting in a city park in our parked car around 10:00 PM. One of the times, we were in the back seat and I had her breasts exposed and my pants unzipped. The policeman was shocked to learn we were not only sober adults, but also husband and wife. No tickets, just warnings, and at least once I noted a twinge of envy as he admonished us.

On one of our trips to the Colville Indian Reservation in the State of Washington, we drove 25 to 30 miles deep into a remote area, and found an abandoned, Depression-era farm located right on the Columbia River. Later I found out this property was known as the Steensland farm (a homestead). We drove up into the property, parked, and got out to walk around, and explore. There was this tiny, dilapidated, and deserted house. As we entered it, we disturbed, and flushed several wild animals that had made their homes there. Joan found old letters, handwritten bills, and personal records strewn over the floors, dating back to the 1930’s.

In the field was a broken down, and partially dismantled harvesting Combine, now frozen in time with its metal wheels settled several feet into the sod. On its side was a zinc or galvanized panel, and still as clear as if written the day before, in legible, lead-pencil, were the handwritten annual total numbers of the types and size of each of the crops they harvested in the late 1920’s and early 1930’s. Right next to the tallied crop information, in a separate column, were the amounts Steensland paid per year on his loan for the Combine. It indicated he paid off his loan in 1932.

In the 3-room house Joan found letters sent from family in the Midwest during the Depression. You could piece together a patchwork of their lives, including stories of deaths and sickness of family members. Joan and I found all of this intriguing. We ended up camping on the Steensland farm for two or three days, and explored everything we could find to learn more about their hardscrabble existence.


On either that same trip, or another trip to the Reservation, Joan and I traveled in our camper van more than 25 miles deep into raw, rugged, and isolated, wilderness territory. Several times on the trip into this area, I had to fire-up the 18” Stihl® chainsaw to remove trees that blocked the old logging road, and several times had to fill in washouts with rocks and debris to continue our trek. It was remote, and I doubt anyone had been on this road for many years.

One night on this trek, after cooking our dinner on the campfire, we retired early to our camper for the usual great sex, and falling asleep holding each other. Around mid-night I was awakened by rustling sounds just outside the van. It was a big boar (black bear). I nudged Joan, and told her, “Hand me the .357, I’m going to scare this bear away.” It was sniffing through some of our things, and pawing the ground around our now-dead campfire. She handed me the gun, and I jumped out of the camper’s side-door, only half dressed, screaming, yelling, shouting, and waiving my arms at the bear. It held its ground about 12 feet away, and did not move. I fired two quick rounds from the Colt Python right at the bear’s feet, and it moved, but not far, only about 4 or 5 feet. By this time, Joan was behind me with my .300 Winchester Magnum rifle, which I took and lunged, running at the bear. It now turned and ran about 100 yards into the brush. I continued to chase after it with my hunting rifle in my right hand. Joan came behind me with a large flashlight.

Once I caught up to where it had stopped, I could hear the bear thrashing, breaking the brush, while making blowing and growling sounds. Limbs and branches were snapping. It seemed pitch black, but my eyes had adjusted, and the moonlight allowed me to see the location of the bear. Before Joan caught-up, I yelled several times more, and then fired a cannon round out of the big magnum rifle right at the bear’s feet. The entire woods lit up in light as if a huge strobe light had flashed. The bear was less than 25 feet away. Temporarily blinded by the flash, I quickly slammed another round into the chamber, and fired again. This time the bear took off in a full sprint into the woods. You could hear the brush crashing as he bolted into the night. I decided not to chase him further, and returned to my warm, comfortable bed with my lovely, sexy, and loving partner. We laughed, hugged, kissed, and made love again. It was an exciting night, in all respects.

The next morning I walked back to the spot of the last confrontation with the bear. Small 2” to 3” saplings were snapped clean off, some were broken, and other larger trees had been claw-marked where the bear thrashed around, snarling and growling at me. Just a couple feet, right in front of these snapped-off trees, were two good-sized craters in the ground from the rifle’s 220-grain soft-points. When the rounds from the magnum struck the ground they literally exploded, spraying the bear with a fuselage of rocks and debris, almost like a shaped-charge, mini-bomb.


Joan and I enjoyed a plethora of interesting and challenging experiences together. Unlike many couples, we had both incredible sex and love. Sometimes one was expressed independently (of the other), but this never diminished nor excluded the love we had for each other. In sum, the majority of our relationship included mutual respect, grace and kindness.

Our relationship was shaped and largely defined by our complex, narcissistic, and eclectic personalities. Parts of our relationship were arguably destructive and risky. The bottom-line was, Joan and I were willing to take risks, and explore new territory (literally and figuratively). You would NOT describe our life as dull and boring.

The hubris of sexual confidence became euphoric. Joan morphed into this sexual creature that heterosexual men clamored after. This was empowering for her. It began the evening in Bellevue, Washington when Joan went alone to meet Wayne and his wife at the swingers’ couples meeting. She was strangely stimulated, and overwhelmed by the level of enthusiasm (attraction) Wayne had for her that night. Joan was not just pretty, but the embodiment of feminine. She is petite, almost fragile in appearance, with dainty features, an exquisite neck, little shoulders, small hands with long slender fingers, a tiny waist with narrow hips, and a tight, firm ass. Only her full, natural breasts appeared large for her small body. In Wayne’s defense (at that time), Joan was, except for her black hair and larger breasts, an absolute doppelgänger for Alyssa Milano.

More important to this story is that the only reason Joan went to the swingers’ couples meeting was simply to determine whether Wayne was sufficiently physically attractive to her [to fuck]. There was no vague or mystery agenda here. The outcome of that evening, with the great physical sex she had with Wayne at his office, began the transformation of Joan into this certifiable sex-temptress. She was hot, hot, hot.

Joan had now come to realize that not only did most men find her very physically desirable, but that these men were persistent and could be aggressive in their pursuit to have intercourse with her. A number of the men, such as Wayne the plumber, were also physically and very sexually desirable to her. What was unique in swingers’ circles was the openness and freedom to clearly express your desire for sex. Joan came to terms with her sexuality and attractiveness, a fact she unconsciously denied, or to some extent, suppressed, for many years before her Revelation. Joan was more self-assured after she had experienced great, physical sex with both Jerry and Wayne. She dressed more confidently, in a classy, sexual way and exuded more personal confidence. If I ever left her alone and unattended while we were out on a date, for any extended amount of time, other men would come up to her and ask if they could take her out, or call her. Nature does not tolerate even an apparent vacuum.

This type of male-attention was obviously based only upon her physical appearance, and striking features. Compared to her former life as a foreign diplomat’s wife in the Middle East, this was a sea change. Repression and denial were no longer a major part of her life. In addition to her physical beauty, Joan could intelligently engage anyone in a conversation, or debate, over vast subject matters.

My recollection, based upon our life together was that Joan was extremely well read, and possessed considerable knowledge in a wide variety of subjects. We would have in-depth discussions about many subjects, not the least of which included world affairs, U.S. history, art (The Masters), antiquities, books, famous authors, plays, operas, classical composers or musicians, language(s), religion(s), and foreign cultures. Joan knew nuances. She was an absolute EXPERT when it came to anything relating to the English language. Her graduate studies and degrees were at the University of Washington. She admitted to me that when she was a younger woman, she was an intellectual snob, and did offend many people with her condescending and supercilious attitudes. She left that in past, along with her bra.

As a wordsmith, Joan could easily maintain a meaningfully engaging dialogue with the most knowledgeable and intelligent individuals. This, combined with her newly discovered pulchritude, gave her multi-dimensional appeal. She was irresistible to many men on many levels. I always thought she was spectacular in all respects.


When I lived in Madison Park, I re-met Joan K. Keeney, a woman I casually knew at the University of Washington, but never dated. Joan K. was a strikingly beautiful and gorgeous redhead, tall (5’10”), with a model’s body, and natural 34D breasts. Joan was also Phi Beta Kappa and graduated Summa Cum Laude from the University of Washington. She was a very, very bright lady. In college, I was a member of the Theta Chi Fraternity, and Joan K. lived next door in the Gamma Phi Beta sorority (her pledge sorority sister was Cheryl Keeton). Joan K., in college, dated Frank, one of my fraternity brothers. Frank and I were relatively close-friends in the fraternity, despite the fact he was one of my upper-classmen. We all knew he was dating Joan K., and this caused some to snicker at her expense, because it was well known in the House that Frank had a porn-star penis.

In 1975, when Joan K. and I started to date, I was becoming financially successful, earning the equivalent of more than $100,000 per year, and beginning to dabble in commercial real estate development. Joan Keeney’s father was an architect, and she was generally familiar with the types of work I was doing. At this time, Joan K. was teaching second grade, also in the Bellevue School District (same as Joan Huston). Joan K. moved into my Madison Park apartment, and began to work with me on my commercial developments, initially a 6-unit apartment, and then a 21-unit apartment building, both being built in Kirkland, Washington. We formed a corporation, and called it SMALL VENTURES, Inc. The apartments were named, ‘habitats’ (Lakeview Habitat; Sylvan Habitat). At this time I formed another company called International Leasing, and placed the ownership of my 36’ sailboat into the new company. The boat was named “The Last Habitat”. All my boat leasing was conducted through this entity. I found Joan K. to be sexually inhibited when we first met and she was shy when naked because of her inverted nipples (I liked them). She told me she never had experienced an orgasm through intercourse. I had asked her about my fraternity brother Frank. She said he never did it for her because his large penis hurt her, causing her to vaginally bleed when they had prolonged sex. After several weeks of sex with her, I could regularly bring her to orgasm every time we had intercourse, and she discovered that every time she had these orgasms her nipples (which were normally inverted) would become erect and stay that way for hours after.

She was very happy, and began to express that enthusiasm, with specificity, to her girlfriends, a covey of former Gamma Phi Beta sorority sisters. This group of 6 to 8 women, some married, several still single, continued to meet for lunches long after they all graduated from the University of Washington. This ‘covey’ included Cheryl Keeton. It was Cheryl who told me years later of Joan K. recounting the graphic details of our sex-life, which Cheryl said piqued her interest in me. Cheryl’s married sex life, at that time, was not great. Her husband was a good person, but there was a ‘duration’ problem. Cheryl wanted their intercourse to last more than a few seconds or minutes. At these all girl-gatherings, Joan K. had bragged to her girlfriends that I was the greatest lover she ever had, and she considered our relationship to be the best she ever experienced. Joan K. never suspected that Cheryl, solely from Joan K.’s descriptions, had created a sexual interest in me.


For background: At the time I lived in the Theta Chi Fraternity at the University of Washington, next door to the Gamma Phi Beta Sorority, there was a mandatory freshman pledge gathering of both houses. The respective pledge coordinators of our two houses arbitrarily, or by some special selection process, matched Cheryl Keeton and me to be ‘dates’ for a group tour of the Rainier Beer Brewery in Seattle. We had a good time, and I thought she was attractive with a great body. I was a Business major and Cheryl an Economics major, and we had a lot in common. Our conversation was easy, we laughed a lot, and enjoyed the date. Days after our arranged ‘date’ I inquired about who she was, and my upper classmen told me she was still dating her high school boyfriend, who was then a law school student at the U of W. Because of the boyfriend, I passed on calling or seeing her again.


Six years later while dating Joan K., we often attended group social functions which included a number of her former sorority sisters, and their respective husbands or significant others. This is when and where I ran into Cheryl, who by then was married to the long-term boyfriend from college. He was now a practicing attorney in Seattle. Cheryl was working as an actuary for a large national insurance company with offices in Seattle. She told me she was planning to attend law school. Cheryl was very attractive, and our conversation was easy, and fun, but I was about to be married to Joan K., so nothing germinated.

Time passed, Joan K. and I got married, and moved into my luxury waterfront residence on Lake Sammamish, Washington. Things were going well, I was making a huge income as a real estate developer and general contractor. Cheryl and her husband frequently visited our lakefront home as a couple, or as part of a larger group of people we invited. We had ‘pool parties’ -- our ski boat was docked just outside our door, and we had a huge, Olympic-sized swimming pool, with an 8-person hot tub. Joan K. and I had parties for any reason.

Just before I was admitted for elective surgery (June 1976) into the University of Washington Hospital (mandibular re-section), we held a classic dinner party for our friends the night before my surgery. The theme of the dinner: The Last Supper (an agnostic joke of sorts, in the event I died on the operating table). It was a couple months before this Last Supper dinner party that Joan K. became obsessed with becoming pregnant. This led to her restricting our sexual relations to only those times she was ovulating. This was not satisfactory to me, on any level, which I repeatedly made clear to her, in those precise words. The days of great recreational sex were apparently gone. Joan K., at that time, only wanted me to ejaculate in her when she was on her back with her knees pulled back to her ears. After I made my ‘deposit’ inside her, she would lie still, on her back, not moving, apparently imagining my sperm racing into her uterus to couple with an unsuspecting egg. What a buzz-kill.

This pogrom was elevated to an even further extreme. Joan K. not only denied sex unless she was ovulating (determined by her anal thermometer), but I was (supposedly) not allowed to masturbate. According to Joan K., by doing this, I would then have maximum impregnating potential. This was bad, I was going nuts, and becoming dangerously horny.

Wet dreams were looming.



Cheryl and I continued to live together in Madison Park in our waterfront condominium. Life was good. We planned to marry and have children. We traveled extensively, and took time to go sailing in our sailboats on Lake Washington and Puget Sound. On one of our road-trips over the North Cascades Highway, I clearly recall she bought me a light-blue, cotton, long-sleeved, Levi’s® button shirt. When she gave it to me, I did not like it, but I did not know why. I never wore the shirt. Now as I sit here writing this, behind me, hanging from my clothes hooks, are two of these exact shirts, same color, same cut, same buttons, everything. They are standard Oregon Department of Corrections prison-issue shirts. The only thing they are missing is the little red Levi’s® tag on the pocket. Back when Cheryl and I lived in Madison Park, Seattle, after my divorce from Joan K., she came to me to [uncomfortably] ask what she (and I later) felt was a bizarre request. Cheryl thought it stemmed from the fact she had only been with two men sexually her entire life: Her high school boyfriend, who later became her attorney-husband, and me. Cheryl wanted to know if she could have sex with another man without causing any damage to our relationship. I asked her if she wanted to break-up, and be single. She said No! What she said she wanted was to sexually experience another man: “To taste him; feel him inside me; see how he moves, see what arouses him … I am just curious!!” Note: Obviously, by this time I had already experienced the seemingly lurid lifestyle as a swinger with Joan Huston, but here was no chance that I was going to introduce Cheryl to that. It would get her the ‘experiences’ she wanted, but it would also result in a plethora of men badgering her after every swinger’s party to hook-up again, with the likelihood of stalkers. footnote 19 Usually after great sex, lying in bed together, fully recovered, Cheryl would initiate the conversation by recounting how much she loved me, then moving on to her lack of experience and curiosity. She knew my experiences included many women (approximately 100) and she had only been with two men. After these on-going discussions over several weeks, maybe a month, we came to an agreement where she could do this. My concern was, first and foremost, that she was to be safe, and careful of whom she chose. Also, it was to not be with anyone we knew socially or professionally. I was to know not only the night she would do this, which might be spur of the moment, but also his name, the time, and the location. There would be no other details, especially afterwards… except that information included in the next footnote 20


The first time was during a trip to Yakima, Washington on a visit to my father. The trip was intended to look for acreage property to buy for a [future] family farm. We did not plan the trip for her to have sex with a stranger. She surprised me, because apparently all along, she had been planning to use this out-of-town trip to seek out her first, new sexual partner since our talk. We had checked into the Yakima Thunderbird Motel on First Street, where we always stayed on prior trips, unpacked, and left for my dad’s house. Everything seemed normal. While at my father’s home, right after dinner, she took me aside and asked if she could go back to the motel alone. She said, “This is the night I am going to experiment with another man.” I would stay at my father’s home – the excuse: she had a lot of legal work to do at the motel and needed to be alone. It was now set. She left around 7:00 PM and drove to the motel, and then out to the Yakima bars, to find a man for sex. She had no problem finding someone and called me around 9:00 PM with his name, saying she was on her way back to our motel room to spend the night. The next morning Cheryl called me to ask if I could borrow my dad’s truck and drive to the Thunderbird to have breakfast with her. I inquired if she was okay, and if she had a good time. Her exact response: “It was great, great, GREAT!!!” There was no jealousy, and nothing more was asked. She never saw her out-of-town one-night stand again.


Another time, months later, while sitting at home, I received a call around 7:30 PM from Cheryl. She had directly gone from her law office to Henry’s Off Broadway, a bar on Boylston Avenue, in the Capitol Hill area of Seattle. It was obvious from the call she had been drinking. Cheryl said she met this attractive man, and his best friend. The man was the president of the largest, independent grocery store chain in the Northwest, Haggen Foods.

She explained he was in Seattle on business with his buddy. In her slightly drunk condition, Cheryl said she wanted to have sex with both of them. In past conversations with Cheryl, I told her about numerous threesomes I had (two with two women; two with one woman), which were all great experiences. She said she wanted a ménage-a-trois with these two men. I said it would be okay if she was careful and used protection. Also she had to agree to not drink anymore. Cheryl gave me the name of the hotel where they were going. She arrived back at our home within 3 hours of her call. She was smiling and I assumed she had a good, though brief, time with them. Cheryl said both of the men repeatedly, prematurely ejaculated, once, each, in the car driving to the hotel and again at the hotel.

Cheryl was not only very intelligent (Phi Beta Kappa; Summa Cum Laude; Order of the Coif; graduated second in her law school class), but she also had an exquisite, naked body. Her skin was naturally pale with no blemishes. She had full C or D-cup, perfectly shaped, natural breasts, with light brown areolas and nipples. She was hyper-responsive to any sexual suggestion, or stimulation. Cheryl said her nipples would become erect, and aroused, if she had a sexual discussion with anyone. Her body was Playboy Playmate of the Year gorgeous, narrow waist, flat stomach, long and shapely legs. She could orgasm within 2 minutes of penetration, followed by up to 12 more frantic orgasms over 1-2 hours in any position. Cheryl exuded sensuality on-demand. But in business clothes, her body absolutely did not remotely look as spectacular as it was. Naked, she was off the hook.

Cheryl’s natural breasts appeared disproportionately large for her small 108-pound body size. (For 2011 reference Cheryl’s all-natural, non-pregnancy breasts were similar in shape and size to those of singer Katy Perry.) It is conceivable any man would lose control, not anticipating, nor accustomed not only to her stunning nakedness, but also her being so sexually aggressive. This would manifest itself as shirt-ripping, unbridled enthusiasm.

One time in particular I recall a morning I called her at work while I was on a consulting trip in North Carolina for The Austin Company footnote 21 and it began with me asking, “Are you alone?” Cheryl responded, “Yes.” Then I asked her to sit down, and take off her panties, which she did. Then I asked her what color they were, and she answered, “They match my bra, they are white.” I continued, “Take your hand and feel your breast through your clothes.” At my suggestion, Cheryl was massaging her breast and pinching her nipple, when she stopped and yelled at me, “Look you are not here, and you are making me horny. I am already sitting here in my office without underwear and it would be very easy for me to fuck any one of 50 men who are within 50 feet of me right now. So stop what you are doing!!!” Our conversation continued in normal tones, and I promised to get home soon. But this did happen and shows just how responsive Cheryl could be to even verbal suggestion.

When naked and ready to have sex, Cheryl would take charge and demand the man enter her, then cry-out to be fucked harder. She intimidated 95% of men. Several times I questioned what I had unleashed. Only a year or so earlier (including all her dating before her marriage), her entire sex life to the only man with whom she had ever had sex with was described as approximately 3 minutes of oral sex followed by less than 60 seconds of penetration.

Now, Cheryl would demand aggressive intercourse for 30 to 60 minutes, sometimes telling you mid-session, “Don’t you dare have an orgasm.”

In the 7 to 8 years of our relationship I can only recall Cheryl asking me to ‘make love to [her]’ two or three times. During that same time, I specifically remember Cheryl asking on average once or twice a month for me to ‘fuck [her] stupid’, a reference to her being unable to talk or speak coherent sentences for 10 to 15 minutes after one our long sessions of aggressive intercourse. Thus we coined the term ‘fucking her stupid’. She would typically have repeated massively huge orgasms that in addition to affecting her speaking afterward, would occasionally cause her to be near, or completely, unconscious for periods of 10 seconds up to as long as a minute (Note: I have often thought about why she would lose consciousness and never came up with any explanation except she may have experienced either a shortage of oxygen combined with a build-up of excess carbon dioxide in her bloodstream.)

This photo of Cheryl was taken in Palm Springs, California just two weeks after her escapade/experiment with Mr. Haggen and his best friend (ménage-a-trois)

* * * * * *

Footnotes follow..... 19. Jim Karr, Cheryl’s half-brother who lived with her at the time of her murder (9/21/86) recounted in several official police reports (interviews) of the Oregon State Police that Cheryl was being stalked by one or two men (who was not her husband) with whom Cheryl had been with sexually. Cheryl also complained of being stalked just days before her murder to a man she met in a Portland, Oregon Riverfront development bar (also memorialized in a police report).

20. We decided at our late Saturday morning breakfast to schedule another trip to Yakima to look at acreage property for a family farm. Cheryl was completely debilitated and felt she would not be able to stay awake to travel from property to property. In fact she said she would need all day Sunday to recover from her current state of total physical exhaustion (from the previous night of sex).

After our meal I paid the bill and checked out of the Thunderbird Motel then drove my Dad’s truck to his house with Cheryl closely following in our Mercedes sedan. We arrived at my father’s house (214 South 46th Avenue) just before 11:00 AM. Our plan was to stay and visit for an hour or so, but after 20 minutes Cheryl was actually nodding-off on their living room couch. I suggested we start back on our trip to Seattle (145 miles) and everyone said their goodbyes with Cheryl and me promising my Dad to return within a month to see the farm properties. Cheryl climbed into the front passenger seat of our new 300E and reclined her seat 45 degrees. She was asleep within 6 blocks and soundly slept for the entire 2-3/4 hour drive home, which included a 15 to 20 minute fuel stop in Issaquah, Washington.

Back in Madison Park (Seattle) I drove down 43rd, the street right along the western shoreline of Lake Washington, and directly into the covered, over-the-water parking structure underneath our waterfront condominium complex. As I shut-off the car’s engine I looked over at my pretty partner and smiled. Still soundly sleeping, Cheryl was making these very quiet, little snoring sounds. It was so cute! I continued to watch her sleep for a couple minutes and remarked to myself that not only did she look extremely healthy but Cheryl was so serenely beautiful with her bright-red rosy cheeks and lips (she had no make-up on whatsoever) which contrasted her many little brown freckles. I got out to go around the car to open her door and awaken her. As I was unbuckling her seat belt I tenderly kissed her on the lips and she stirred to life, opening her eyes, smiling then stretching in a full body twist while making a straining and groaning sound. Cheryl said she was glad to be home.

To assist her I lifted her right leg, setting her foot firmly on the ground then reached in to help her up and out of the seat, and noticed the entire crotch of her tan-cotton, cargo pants was “wet” (dark in color). When I asked what caused that she looked down and said, “What the Hell?” She stood up and reached her right hand down the top and inside her pants all the way to her vagina, and after about 5 seconds of feeling between the top of her legs, she said, “Oh…it’s him.” Apparently having been asleep in a near upright sitting position for almost 3 hours had allowed his deeply deposited semen from the night before to slowly seep via gravity out of her, soaking through the panties as well as the outer fabric of her pants. She grabbed two or three sanitizing wipes from the car’s console with which she cleaned her fingers and hands then said in truly typical, unflappable Cheryl-style: “Irrefutable evidence for the jury that there is in fact a demonstrable price one must pay for a sleepless night of non-stop debauchery.” I laughed.

Cheryl flashed a big smile then kissed me full on the lips, then turned to quickly walk toward the garage elevator which would take her (ahead of me) up to our apartment where she enjoyed a second shower within 6 hours that day. On Sunday afternoon, sitting in our living room ‘recovering’, Cheryl blurted out an unsolicited, non-stop statement/explanation to justify her exhaustion and the semen-soaked incident:

“From 9:20 PM to 8:45 AM, with only one quick, late-night trip to the toilet, I never got off the [motel] bed. We ‘did-it’ 4, maybe 5, times throughout the night and for 90% of that time I was prostrate, front and back. The last time we had sex started at 7:30 [AM] and, except for the first time, was typical of how it went each time all night long. I know the exact time because when he started I was asleep on my stomach, angled sideways across the bed with my head inches away from and facing the motel alarm clock on the bedside table. I was instantly and fully awake and in seconds we were [fucking] with enthusiasm. Things quickly became very, very aggressive and so rough it required I grab and brace myself against the nightstand and the alarm clock was knocked off onto the floor. The lamp would have gone too except it was glued or screwed to the table and the motel telephone became jammed hard between the wall and the lamp. When we finished I lay on the bed for 10 to 15 minutes before I had enough energy to sit-up in bed and picked-up the alarm clock to place it back on the nightstand. It said 8:47. That is when he decided to take his shower and I pulled out the wedged telephone from behind the lamp and called to ask you to drive over for breakfast.

When I heard him come out of the bathroom I got off the bed to go over and sit with him. We talked, and he continued to touch me as he dressed. We said our goodbyes, and he left. I jumped into the shower for 5-10 minutes; then quickly dressed, packed, and walked to the lobby to wait for you to arrive.”

Cheryl offered at our Saturday breakfast in Yakima, “He works as a regional sales rep for a large, wholesale sporting goods supplier and his territory is all of eastern Washington, the State of Idaho, and most of eastern Oregon. His job requires he visit Yakima once a month. He told me I was the best partner he had ever been with, and wants to know if he could pencil in a future “sales appointment” to see me.” Cheryl laughed. I did not. She quickly added that he never knew her last name or that she was an attorney. I did not suspect Cheryl ever saw him again. From what I gleaned, Cheryl’s choice of a third-ever sexual partner (intercourse) turned out to be an excellent experience for her and was, literally, the definition of ‘fulfilling’. Tim the salesman.

21 The Austin Company was the third largest international construction and engineering company in the world and based in Cleveland, Ohio (Actually in Shaker Heights), for whom I did real estate consulting work for several years.


Years later I was to find myself in another, similarly erotic experience with my long-time girlfriend, and former Portland, Oregon resident, April Ann Arwood.

We were visiting from Houston. It was a dreary, rainy day in the Northwest, which had caused us to suffer through a rough, bumpy flight into Portland earlier that day. It was around noon when I rented a car at the airport, and we drove to the Lloyd Center Red Lion Inn where we had reservations. There was nothing on my itinerary that showed we had planned anything for the evening.

After checking into the hotel, we went directly to our room for good, mid-day, jet-lag sex, followed by an afternoon nap, and later, room service. After eating our light dinner, we opted to go downstairs and sit in the lobby bar to people-watch. April felt it was too late to go to a movie, and said she would be down right behind me. I left, took the elevator to the lobby, stopped to purchase a copy of The Oregonian newspaper, and settled into a comfortable chair in the bar to wait for my pretty girlfriend. I ordered 100% juice drinks for us.

April finally arrived almost 25 minutes later. She looked absolutely stunning, her make-up was flawless, and her hair looked as if it had been styled. It was worth the wait. She wore a fitted, low-cut white top (no bra, and her dark nipples were clearly visible and showed through the fabric). A thin, red leather belt was around the waist of her very tight, faded light-blue, knee-length jean shorts. She wore white dress sneakers.

She smiled as she sat down, but did not indicate anything was up, or why she was so happy. April is print-ad model-beautiful. We were happy, as a couple, just sitting there together. Later I learned that without asking, or talking to me about it in advance, she had called, arranged, and invited, Kirk, her old boyfriend, to join us at our Portland hotel. But at this point, I was completely unaware of the plan she had quickly cobbled together in our room before joining me. We sat very close to each other in the bar, and held hands. As we sipped our drinks, we joked, and kissed a few times.

Across the lobby came this casually well-dressed, handsome man who walked directly up to our table. I did not know him. He looked like Robert Downey, Jr. April jumped up and hugged him, then turned to introduce him to me as Kirk, her ex-boyfriend. April then sat back down, took my hand, looked right at me, said she loved me, smiled, and confessed she called Kirk from our room earlier (after I left), and it was her wish that we have a ménage-a-trois. April said she told Kirk on the telephone that she wanted him to come to our hotel for this [express] purpose. Despite my genuine shock and surprise, I recovered in a minute or less, and said, “Why not?” Besides, I quickly surmised, the rainy evening in Portland, Oregon would unlikely offer anything that could rival a good threesome with April. But first, at April’s insistence (due to her proclivity) we had to all watch a hard-core, adult movie. At that time, the ‘classy’ Lloyd Center Red Lion did not offer adult movies on a pay-for-view system for their guest room televisions. Kirk said he knew where there were these XXX-rated arcades. So we left the hotel, in my rental car, and drove downtown, the windshield wipers on intermittent. There was parking on the street just a block from the arcade entrance. We walked into this mid-block, seedy-looking, brightly lit, older building, which advertised on its marquee: XXX-Rated Coin-Operated Booths. They did not appear busy, and had no visible customers. It might have been the rain. But it was still early, probably around 8:30 PM. The arcade management closely checked us out as we stood at the counter, and I changed a $20 bill for two rolls of quarters. Clearly we did not fit their typical customer demographic as two, reasonably well-dressed men, and one drop-dead gorgeous, leggy blond. Their business also offered a full complement of hard-core publications. But as a group, we quickly moved past the X-rated magazine display in front, and proceeded, with purpose, to the back where the quarter-slot, XXX-rated movie booths were patiently waiting for us. Little did the arcade managers suspect this genre was not only April’s first-preference for general viewing, but mandatory entertainment for her before [and during] spectacular coitus.

Against their posted rules the three of us squeezed into a single booth. It had a small 10” black and white screen, next to a vertical row of white buttons for channel selection. There was a 2’ padded seat, and a slot next to the screen to insert coins. April fed 8 or 9 quarters into the slot, and the in-progress fuck-movie appeared on the screen. I sat on the bench directly across from the screen, with April on my lap. About four or five minutes into the first porno selection, right after I made some joke about how slippery the floor was, I noticed April’s blond hair, and head, bobbing up and down. Kirk had unzipped his pants, pulled out his penis, and she was giving him a blowjob as I sat there massaging her clit. Seeing that our trip to the video arcade had already produced the desired result, I said, “Well, I think we are done here.” All of us quickly moved out of the booth, leaving Kirk to stuff his package back into his pants as we walked out. April reached out and took my hand and said, “Just a minute.” In that amount of time Kirk was closed-up and ready to go. The management again gave us their “what the fuck are you doing here stare” as we were leaving. It was now pouring rain. Kirk grabbed a handful of those free community ‘newspapers’ infested with ads, and held them over his head while pulling April close, to also cover her. They bolted for the parked car. I was 5 to 10 feet behind them, zigzagging to intentionally step in every puddle of rain on the way to the car dragging and splashing the soles of my shoes in the water trying to wash off any remaining ‘arcade booth’ residue from the bottoms of my leather loafers.

Kirk and April were at the car squeezed close together standing under Kirk’s now dissolving newspaper rain-shield. I opened the driver’s door and hit the auto-unlock button and jumped in. Kirk and April dove into the back seat. I made some joke about being alone in the front seat as I moved back into traffic on the one-way street, heading directly back to the hotel. I drove fast, but safely in the rain with April in the back next to Kirk. She now had his penis out of his pants again, trying to resurrect his earlier erection.

We agreed on the hurried drive to the hotel that Kirk would wear a condom every time he fucked April, and that I would not. Kirk and I continue to talk and touch on several other ground rules as we thought of them, such as no male contact, and if necessary, take turns. April was excited about our plans, conceptually and literally. She had not been participating in any of our conversation with Kirk’s erection in her mouth, but for just a second she pulled it out and blurted out, “Count me in.” Kirk and I laughed.

We arrived at the hotel, but before we got into our room, April was starting to take her clothes off; she even momentarily exposed her breasts in the elevator. As we entered the room she finished stripping off her top, asking us to help her pull the skin-tight jeans shorts off. Now full naked, she threw herself on the middle of one of the queen-sized beds, grabbing her crotch and pleading for us to hurry. As we undressed, April reached for, and applied the Astro-Glide®, while Kirk put on a condom so he could go first. To my knowledge he had never seen April’s new enhanced 34C breasts. When they dated she was a 32A....