I love redheads

I see her and I can’t get her out of my mind. I love redheads.

I caught a glimpse of her as she was leaving the store. Red hair, full figure, long legs with high heels-everything I love in a woman. I followed behind from a distance, not wanting to startle her or scare her off. Just want to get a closer look. The breeze shifts and I catch her scent: light, flowery perfume…hair spray…and the smell only a woman has; the scent that drives me over the edge with desire. I continue to follow her as she walks down the street.

I’m not the only one who notices this rare creature of beauty; the cop on the beat, the bicycle messenger who almost wrecks as she passes. Nearly every man (and some women) turns to admire her as she walks on. But they won’t have her; that is reserved for me and me alone.

As she goes into a coffee shop, I make my move. I move behind her in line and, when she places an order for a latte, I tell the pimple-faced barista to ‘put it on my bill’. My lady turns and smiles, whispering ‘thank you’ in a voice that makes my head spin. We move to a quiet booth to talk. She is light-hearted and funny and smart. I hang on to her every word, laughing at all the right moments. Before long, I am touching her hand and she is responding. As the sun goes down over the city, I see the hunger starting to show in her eyes-those beautiful hazel-green eyes. I smile, showing her a glimpse of the same hunger.

We walk out together, the rest of the coffee shop patrons smiling at the couple in love. We walk down, heading back to my place. When I asked, I didn’t think she’d want to go, but she surprised me by saying yes. She held my hand, sometimes leaning her head on my shoulder. I breathed in her scent and smiled a quiet smile to myself-knowing the night was going to be special.

Ever the gentleman, I opened the front door to my brownstone and ushered her inside. She looked around at the paintings and objects d’art that I’ve accumulated over my travels. Before she could turn around to comment, I lifted the mallet that I keep behind the door and smashed her in the head. She didn’t even cry out; I was quick with my strike.

I lifted her unconscious body and went down into the basement; the basement with the special sound-proof walls and drainage system that I installed. Placing her on the worktable, I put on my special apron and facemask made of rubber. I undressed her, throwing her now useless clothing and accoutrements in the furnace.
Picking up a boning knife, I commence to cut away the flesh, working towards the tender meat that lies beneath. I am glad that I killed her with the first swing: the first time I did this, the carcass screamed and moaned for hours. I thought I’d never get that noise out of my head. I place the choice cuts in freezer bags, placed the refuse in the special vats of acid I keep, and then retired upstairs for a shower and a nice meal.

As I said, I love redheads-I think they’re delicious.