Chapter 12: Blonde hair, blue jeans

Roger answers the door and is surprised to see an unknown girl outside. He believes she is unknown, at least. He's met a lot of girls during his 34 years, but he thinks he would have noticed. She is young, no more than 18 probably. Not that this is a bad thing. She has blonde hair, blue jeans, a small buttoned vest and a plastic bag. She looks slightly nervous, but cute.

"Hi. I'm Betty. You're Roger, aren't you?"

"Yeah. What you doing here?"

"Tee hee. I'm a friend of Anne, who was here this past weekend. Short, curvy, dark hair, around my age."

Oh yes. He can remember that girl. She was indeed curvy. Not that there is anything wrong with long legs either, the way this one has. Lots and lots of legs. But that other girl, Anne? She had definitely been a good lay. She had already been drunk when they met, and she was pretty much unconscious when he carried her off to the bedroom. It's so much fun when they are like that. He can experiment with more unusual things without getting any protests. And they're not judging him and demanding anything from him. He is free to just do what he wants with them, and have fun. He sure had fun with that one.

The first times he'd had sex with passed-out girls he had been kinda nervous afterward. Some people – feminazis – thought of that as rape. As if he had poured the liquor down their throats! They had drunk all by themselves. Usually he even paid for the drinks, so it was only reasonable he got something in return. But he had heard that there had been a few cases where the police had been involved. Not that the court would ever take the word of a stupid drunk girl as proof, of course, so it was all about getting some privacy before you started. He had been very careful about that himself. Now this girl was at his door. Could it possibly be a trap?

"Yeah, I remember the girl. We had a nachspiel and she was here for a while."

"Actually, the way she told me, there was more to it than just being here."

"So, what she tell you?"

"You were drinking together and she got really out of it drunk. And you ... carried her to the bedroom and ... had your way with her."

"You trying to say something?"

"Yeah." The girl swallows a couple times. Then she pulls a bottle of heavy red wine out of the bag. "I'm trying to say, could I get in? I'd not be comfortable about doing this on the lawn."

Whoa. Like, whoa. This looks like a good thing about to happen.

"OK, guess you can come in."

"Thanks." She steps right in, and even closes the door after herself. "Are you alone?"


"Good. I hoped we could be private. I ... there is something ... I have never done this with a man before, and I thought you deserved to be the first. After what I heard from Anne."

Wow. So the little mouse really liked it? Be cool, man. Chicks dig it when you're cool.

"So, how about we have a drink and talk a little first?"

"Funny, I was just about to say that! Tee hee!" She giggles nervously.

He's got some hard liquor in the house, but this bottle could be enough, depending on how things go. "This your favorite wine?"

"Tee hee. I'm not really an expert. Perhaps it's a bit sweet for you, but I like it."

"It's OK. So your friend sent you here, huh?" He finds two glasses.

"No, no! She has no idea I'm here. I think that would freak her out. Thanks."

He fills the glasses. "So you come on your own."

"Yeah. Because ... lately I've been ... I have these fantasies." She sips to the wine. It's pretty clear she's not used to drinking. Not a bad thing.

"Oh yes?"

"Yeah. About men ..."

"Natural thing. You not a little girl anymore."

"Mm. No, not anymore." She smiles, and for a moment it is not the shy schoolgirl giggle smile, but something wild, almost demonic. Then the nervous girl is back in control. "I ... I know girls dream about boys. About men, really. About holding hands and whispering sweet words and romantic stuff. This is not like that. Not at all."

"Well, there's more to it than holding hands."

She nods, and once more there is this brief moment where her mask wavers, but just a moment.

They sip their wine while she searches for the right words. Finally she seems to have them. "You know, animals?"

"Yah, how bout them?"

"They don't do things so complicated. It's the law of the jungle. The strong conquer the weak. The strong male has the right to ... to mate. He doesn't ask. He takes what he wants." She blinks at him. "Not all men feel like that of course. Most are civilized, at least on the outside."

"Yeah. On the outside."

"You are not. You take what you want. And I ... I want ... I want a wager with you."

"A wager?"

"I want you to prove yourself. Who you really are. If you can overpower me, if you can take me even though I resist, I'm yours to do with as you want." She speaks hurriedly now. "You're a lot bigger than I am. But that's the way it is, isn't it? The male of the species is ... well, anyway, you didn't waste time holding hands and whispering sweet words to Anne. I don't want you to do that to me either. If you want me, you'll have to take me. Are you man enough for it?"

She is flicking asking him to take her by force? "Am I man enough? You gotta ask yourself, are YOU ready?" He's not sure the answer matters. The pulse is pounding in his ears, and not just in his ears. She's asking for it, the bitch is asking for it. He rises from his chair.

"I'm ready" she whispers. With feverish haste, she unbuttons her vest.

Then he is over her, grabbing her wrists, hauling her onto the open floor. She falls on her back easily enough, and he pins her to the floor, arms stretched out. The small vest, unbuttoned now, has slid wide open. She is wearing a white T-shirt with a logo, a mix of the woman symbol and one of those satanic stars, and the text Demon Girl. He chuckles. "Demon girl, huh?"

She starts to resist. She begins to push with those slim, lightly tanned arms. He laughs and grinds her into the floor, showing her who is the master. She meets his eyes. Sees his resolution. And then the mask fades completely.

Those girly arms push him up as if he was a rag doll. For a moment he is numb from the shock. A moment is enough. Suddenly she is holding his wrists. "You forgot something" she hisses. "If the male is too weak ... he loses his mating rights. Forever." She whirls him through the air, crashes him to the floor. Lifts him up, crashes him down again. It hurts. It hurts a lot. How did this happen? No one, no woman, no man is that strong. Demon girl .. demon girl .. His head hits the floor hard. He is alive, but dazed. Shock and pain and confusion. Something glints in her hand, a short clean blade. He cannot lift his head. And then, through the haze, pain sears through him, pain such as he has never felt before. He screams. And screams and screams, in pain and fear and loss.

The screams just go on and on and on. They drown out the sirens of police and ambulance as these drive up to the house. But outside, already far from the houses of the suburb, Elisabeth hears the sirens clearly. They are fading behind her, as she kneels in the ditch, crying, puking. Tears, wine and bile, and the blood on her hands.