misogynoir

Confessions of a Pretty Girl Killer

little_girl_black_african_american_2-e1456799563678-1132x509Everyone thought she was a stupid, uneducated slut. She didn’t finish high school or have a job and her only occupation in life was a different man every night of the week. Not quite good enough for the local boys to bring home to mama, but good enough to screw. Not good enough for the stuck up little broads in the hood to be friends with, but good enough to call over to someone’s porch to find out some local gossip. Yeah, everyone thought she was stupid. But she had them all fooled. No one suspected she was leading a double life.

Normally, she would play the role of the ignorant hood-rat with nothing on her mind but a high and a new man but for the last two weeks, it had been different. She had put on her longest dress, pulled her hair back in a neat bun, and she went to church. The first time, she was there for bible study; this time, revival week. While there, she would allow herself be swept up into the drama of it all and she would stand up in front of the church members to declare her sinfulness to the world, begging for someone to rescue her from her this life of depravity. As always, it would be a righteous man, a god fearing man who saw that beneath the long dress was a body that was full, voluptuous, and needed to be touched. He would pretend that he wanted to help this poor, misguided young woman. There would be the conversation, the sweet nothings in her ear:

“Everything is going to be okay baby. Now that you are here in the house of the Lord, He will make it better. All you need is the love of a good man and everything will be just fine.” She would smile sweetly and look up at him as if he was her reason for being alive. Still looking at him, she would say, “I walked here because I didn’t have any money for carfare; could you give me a ride?” Naturally, he said yes.

How could he resist such a young tender girl with eyes that were so beseeching but yet so inviting? Of course she would have to meet him on the next block, couldn’t have the hens of the church clucking. Always the same behavior, just dressed a little bit nicer. She used the same routine the last time. Amazing how gullible men could be. On the ride home, she would act like it so hot to her. She needed some air and would ask could they go to the beach. It was so emotionally draining, telling all her sordid secrets to all those people and some fresh air would feel good. Naturally, he was down with that. It was in the fall and not too many people would be there.

At the beach, she would talk about the series of disappointments that had been her short life. The mother who showered her with love and affection, until she reached an age in which her mother saw her as a predator looking for the same prey: men. The father who was gone so long she could not remember his face. Her mother’s husband who took away her innocence and left her with filled with self-loathing and sexual knowledge too much for her to understand. She would also talk about the men who made her feel like a queen at night, but would not speak to her in the daytime. The girls with the fake cheerleader smiles and serpent-like personalities. The school system which had no time for disturbed little girls who needed nurturing, not more emphasis on state wide test scores. Then the tears would pour, real tears of pain, over the half-life she had been leading on this planet.

Always the arm going around her shoulder, the accidental, on purpose brushing of her breast, the awkward first kiss. She would let the kiss deepen to get things going. Slowly they would fall into the sand, and by careful maneuvering, she would end up on top. She would make him feel so good, so great for that moment. Then, with a quick, savage movement, she would slash his throat deeply. There wouldn’t be time for a struggle, his basic instinct for survival being thwarted by his sexual need. He never saw the tiny switchblade that she hid in her hair, the hair she had loosened from the bun she wore earlier. He never saw the look of calculation in her eyes because he was too busy looking at her breasts.

Afterwards, she would watch him for a few minutes, making sure he was dead. Then she would drag his body towards her car, the car her victims did not know she had and had hid near the area where she would make her kill. She deliberately went to this part of the beach because it was very secluded. She would take the towels and blanket out of the trunk and with care, cleaned the blood from his body. Unruffled by the night, she rolled his body into the blanket. With a strength most people had grossly underestimated, she put the body in the trunk of her car, closed it, rinsed her hands off, got in her car and drove away. She went to the outskirts of town, and dumped his body there, into a shallow grave she dug earlier. The other time, she used the city dump.

Last week was the first time she had killed someone. She did it the first time just to see if she could actually kill someone in cold blood. Everyone thought she was such a dumb, pathetic, excuse for a human with the intelligence of a slug. To kill, one had to be cold-blooded, methodological, concise, and cunning. No one knew about the deep-rooted resentment and hatred lurking in her heart. No one cared. Of course, her heart was cold. Her own mother pretended to love her until her natural jealousy of other women turned her against her own flesh and blood. She knew dude was screwing her daughter. She just didn’t care; she was too busy getting drunk and trying to hang on to her trifling husband. She felt the girl brought it on herself, walking around with her breasts bouncing everywhere.

The girls in the neighborhood felt the same way. The girl was the first to develop, with a pretty face how they hated her for that. The boys were always skinning and grinning in her face, although they talked about her like a dog to them. What was so special about her anyway? Bitch. And men! From the moment she developed, they wouldn’t leave her alone. Her perverted stepfather who had warped her sexuality before she even had the chance to warp it herself. He even had the audacity to be a deacon at a church! The boys in the hood who pretended they liked her but only wanted some sex, and wouldn’t even acknowledge her if it was daytime. And especially, these last two self-righteous, horny bastards she found in the church. Going around pretending as if they really gave a fuck about her. Just like her stepfather. Ha! What a joke. They deserved to die. All these fuckers deserved to die and she was going to be the one to do it. Going to church with their wives and families, pretending they were so holier than thou and then using the church as a trick stop. It made the decision to kill these type of men so much easier. The ability to kill had given her a thrill and a thirst. The next time, she would have to change her routine. People might catch on. Oh no but of course not. Everyone thought she was so stupid. She had killed twice and hadn’t been caught. They had better watch out. She was out there.

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