Curtis Durrell Straughter was nineteen years old. He was a member of Gay Youth Milwaukee, called himself Demetra for a reason lost in the annals of time, and wanted to be a model. On he eighteenth of Febuary, 1991, he was waiting for a bus near Marquette University, minding his own business, when guess who comes along and starts up a conversation with him? Yeah, that’s right. Hell’s most infamous renegade demon-Jeffrey Dahmer.
Dahmer, true to form, offered Curtis fifty dollars to come and pose for photos for him. The boy accepted, and went back to his flat with him. A few hours later, Curtis was dead-he had been strangled with one of Dahmer’s belts. In a sickening twist on Dahmer’s normal method, he was conscious at the time.
At the trial, his mother Dorothy made her victim impact statement, saying that she had not seen her teenage son in more than a year, and now she would never see him again. She stated that she had “a lot of hatred, a lot of anger.” Jeff, of course, just stared at the ground, as usual. Cowardly scum.
Let’s just think about Curtis Straughter for a second. He was only nineteen years old, and had so much going for him-he was definitely handsome enough to be a model, in my opinion. He was young and full of energy. The world was his oyster.
But one lowlife pondfeeder of a man decided to play God and take it all away from him.
Rest in peace, Curtis Straughter.