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THE RITE OF SPRING
By Kathy Chwedyk (a.k.a.
Kate Huntington)
Ted is the smartest salesman in the world. If you're in a room with him longer than five minutes, you'll hear all about it. He has the biggest house, the fastest car, the most expensive tastes (especially when his company is picking up the tab), and the prettiest wife in town.
He could have had a fancy desk job, he is quick to say, but he turned it down flat. No, sir. Ted loves the open road. When his wife complains that he's away from home six days out of seven, he reminds her that there are plenty of women who would like to be in her shoes. If she doesn't quit her whining, he'll trade her in for a younger model.
A real prince, is Ted.
His job takes him from one hick town to another, but he doesn't mind. There are a lot of men in Chicago who make as much money as Ted. But out in the middle of Yahoo, Indiana, a guy with his money and style is a big shot.
Ted just loves corn-fed 18-year-old country girls with big boobs. When they're that young and innocent, all he has to do is convince them that theirs is a passion that will outlast time and they'll do the wild thing with him in the back seat of his car without the slightest hesitation. Ted has left a trail of broken hearts from L.A. to Boston.
I know all this the minute I see him.
He is wearing a leather bomber jacket, tight jeans, a striped shirt with most of the buttons undone to display his chest hair, and a baseball cap to hide his bald spot.
I am wearing white Keds and white anklets and pink lip gloss. My baby-blonde hair is in pigtails. The blue gingham dress with the white collar and cuffs would have been too obvious, so I have on a short plaid skirt and a tight angora twin set.
Ted's nostrils quiver when he spots me.
My rat is sniffing the bait.
The bartender mutters, then turns away. From across the room I can see two sets of knuckles whiten on their pool cues. I blow a kiss at the guy throwing darts just to watch him flinch.
It makes the regulars nervous when I hunt on their turf, but they wouldn't dare try to stop me.
I saunter over to Ted's table and sit down.
"Hi," I say. "I'm Sandy."
"That's a pretty name," Ted replies as he leers at my breasts. "How about a drink?"
I nod, and he snaps his fingers for the waitress. Actually snaps his fingers! I murmur something about how masterful men turn me on. He swells up like a toad.
Soon I suggest that we go to my place, and he escorts me out to his car with his hand in the small of my back. As soon as we get outside, his hand shifts south. I giggle and playfully slap it away.
As he follows my directions out of town, he tells me about his wife. Sloppy housekeeper. Doesn't understand him. I bite into the fleshy part of his ear and savor the coppery taste of his blood in my mouth. One-handed -- without taking his eyes from the road -- he unhooks my bra right through my twin set. It's almost too easy.
"Too hot to wait?" he asks with a suggestive smirk when I tell him to pull over and stop next to the corn field. He starts kissing me with his mouth open.
He's making so much noise he doesn't hear the footsteps.
His eyes are closed when my twelve sisters grab him and carry him screaming and thrashing to the stake. As they tie his wrists behind his back, I don the robe my sisters have brought for me.
We have to follow the ritual exactly, or it won't work.
I remember the taste of Ted in my mouth as I watch the newly planted earth turn dark with his blood. I gather some up with my fingers and smear it on my cheek.
I feel sad, all of a sudden.
The only bad thing about finding the perfect man is you can only kill him once.
The End
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