© 2006 by Penelope Street
Out in the sticks there's often not much else to do on a Friday besides drink, dance, and fuck. I guess I've always had a particular fondness for those last two. In hindsight, I'm certain that's why my father would only pay my tuition if I attended Northwest Wisconsin State University. With my grades, I wasn't exactly in line for any scholarships, so I didn't have much choice. Never heard of Northwest Wisconsin State? It's a little teacher's school in one of those towns that doesn't do anything except serve as a suburb for a college. One little sign on route 53 is all we rate, so no surprise if you missed us.
Not that I'm even studying to be a teacher- that wasn't what my father had in mind. Teacher's school- know what that means? A nine to one gender inequality among the students, and not in my favor. Not that I'm ugly, but I'm not exactly in the top ten percent either if you know what I mean. Plus teachers-to-be, well, can't say they lit my fire the way I wanted it lit. Have to give my dad credit. I didn't figure out his plan until I was settled into my dorm, but he didn't reckon with my resolve either. Within a month I had two words for his little scheme.
Minneapolis and St. Paul.
Ok. Maybe that's three words. Or four. Doesn't matter, those words are less than two hours away- that's the two that matters.
Borrowing a car proved easier than I thought it'd be- anyplace near our campus was within walking distance and not like most teachers-to-be were going anywhere on Friday night anyway. By early November, I'd learned to spread out my borrowing so that I could be in the clubs surrounding the University of Minnesota every other weekend.
~ ~ ~
"You're the one they call Butterfly, aren't you?"
Do they really call me that?
I wondered. I'd been called a lot worse. At least it was appropriate since the upper half of the butterfly on my back was visible above my halter top. With a smile spreading across my face, I spun toward the speaker, placing my breasts right where my tattoo had been.
Beneath a pair of thick brows, a pair of big dark eyes lingered on my bosom. He was older, mid twenties. Sandy blond hair- uncombed wildfire to perfection. Broad shoulders stretching a puce T-shirt. Perfect bit of scruff along a firm jaw and one of those smiles with the upper lip just peeled away from the teeth.
Beefcake du jour.
He'd do.
After a half-second, he managed to raise his eyes to my face.
"Butterfly?" I said, bouncing my eyebrows. "Is that what they call me?"
He shrugged. "Should I call you something else?"
"Depends." I gave my shoulders a shake. "You like my butterfly?"
His eyes dove right to the rest of my wiggle. "Yeah, I like them."
"In that case, you can call me Butterfly. What about you- you got a name?"
His eyes bounced upward with a smile that now included both lips. "Michael, but my friends call me Mick."
"Nice to meet you, Mick."
"So." He leaned that inch closer. "Can I buy you a drink, Butterfly?"
I winked. "I'd rather dance."
Dancing, done right, is some of the best foreplay. Touching. Feeling his hands. Strong. Soft. Getting sweaty. Rubbing. Sliding my body against his. Warm. Hard. And getting harder. Talking. Not that either of us could hear much above Shania Twain's blaring vocals, but we weren't saying anything really- other than "I want to fuck you" with different words.
A half-dozen tunes later I pressed my body against his and raised my lips to his ear. "I'm ready to go somewhere else."
My favorite somewhere else was a short walk and a shorter drive away, the tree-covered slopes between the river and the campus. I could lean with both hands on a tree and watch the world go by while my beau of the moment took care of me. I'm not sure why I like fucking outdoors, especially doggy-style. Maybe it's the animal nature of it all. Maybe it's that added thrill that we might be seen. The chill in the mid-autumn air only heightened the sensation for me. With the leaves gone and the full moon above, the area was better lit than before and I found a spot near a double-tiered maroon bridge with a good view of the river and downtown.
Looking back, I suppose I was foolish much in the way smokers are- lighting up all the time, one can get used to the danger enough to ignore it. Having taken boys to secluded spots for years, I didn't think twice about my safety. After all, I was going to put out- not as if they needed to rape me.
"Did you bring a condom?" I asked, looking for a good place to set my purse. "Because I did if you..."
"I brought something better than a condom." One of his hands grabbed my hair and yanked my face upward. The other moved toward my throat so fast I caught but a glint from the metal before I felt the edge of the knife against my throat. My purse slipped from my fingers. I swallowed and the whole of my consciousness leapt to where my skin flexed against his blade. My wide eyes darted to his. How did they go from pools to beads so fast?
You'd think a mind would race at a time like that, when any word could be your last, but all I could imagine was my father's face when he heard how I'd died.
"No," I begged. "I'll do what you want."
"Oh," he whispered in a tone cooler than the air. "I know you will. You're gonna start by taking..."
"I think she said 'No'."
Four eyes cut toward the source of the feminine voice. At first I saw only the glow of a cigarette as someone drew on it. The tiny yellow light moved toward us and a slender silhouette coalesced within the shadows. "Now that I think about it," she said, taking another drag, "I'm sure she said 'No'."
The pressure of the blade against my throat was gone. Mick released my hair and took a step backward. "It's not what you think!"
A petite blonde in a tweed jacket emerged from the skeletal trees and took another puff. "No," she said, blowing smoke into the night. "It's not what you think."
"What..." Mick began.
I still don't know what he meant to ask her.
The next instant the cigarette hung in the air where she had been. I watched it fall halfway to the ground before a gurgle reached my ear. My attention snapped to my would-be assailant.
The little blonde had him by the hair. Her mouth enveloped his neck. I heard a sickening crunch and a spasm rocked Mick's form all the way from his head to the tips of his splayed fingers. She turned her face toward me, revealing a pair of glowing amber eyes that throbbed in unison with each pulse of her throat.
Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire.
"Oh, God," I managed to mutter. I turned and took a single stumbled step amid the leaves before I recalled how fast she'd moved. Trying not to shake, I forced my spine into a line and spun to face her.
She stopped suckling and stood erect. With no apparent effort, she snapped her hand outward, holding Mick at arm's length. His left hand twitched three times, then his form went limp.
"Was he bothering you?" she asked in a near baby-talk tone.
I swallowed and managed a shallow nod.
