“Zeg wat heb je mooie ogen”Johnny & Jones
Zei de spin tegen de vlieg.
“Ik heb nog nooit een vrouw bedrogen
Denk ook nu niet dat ik lieg.”
I am a spider. My real name starts with the same letter as the shoulder I have this red-back tattoo on. I am a solitary creature and I am dangerous. If you’re a girl, and I talk to you: run.
Why? Because I don’t care. I’m real good at pretending that I do, though.
‘Say, what pretty eyes you have, said the spider to the fly; I’ve never cheated on a woman; I’m quite confident, I’m not lying now.’ There’s some truth in that. At least there was when I said the cheating bit to the first women I ever dated.
We were young and reckless. Screw the world, fuck responsibility. She was fourteen, I was a few years older, yet greener than her.
It started in the spring; the time of year when hormones start racing. She was pretty and came on to me. I, the solitary creature I already was, had no idea what to do, but reciprocated by instinct.
It wasn’t long before we kissed. We started spending time together and even though her mind had a few short circuits, I told myself I was enjoying the attention. She would come over announced and unannounced. She would drop off little love notes in my mailbox (this was the time before the internet; I’m an old man now). She even bought me chocolate, once. Little did I know that that was a hint; I should’ve bought her chocolates. I told you, I was green as grass at the time.
But things didn’t go wrong there. I did take her out, and paid for a movie, a concert, I even pretended to be sophisticated and took her to the theatre. Ballet, it was; she enjoyed it. I got lucky – it was amazing. At least, that’s what I thought for the full three minutes. She had by then turned fifteen and turned out not to be a virgin, so she was less impressed. But she was willing to teach me.
That was strange for me. While some boys get ideas from porn (pornhub wasn’t around at the time, but you get the idea), and others figure it out as they go along (or don’t), and some learn from talking to peers or older partners, I was told how to please a woman by a fifteen year old girl. She taught me how to use my fingers, how to use my tongue, and even practised with me till I lasted long enough for her to orgasm while I was in her – only then, she said, was it my turn to cum.
Don’t call the police on me just yet. I’m not a paedophile; I wasn’t an adult at the time, and fifteen year olds usually don’t appeal to me. No, I told you, I am a spider. At present, I kill flies, not children.
So there I was, having brought her to the summit a few times, thinking I knew what ever woman wants in bed. And I wanted my life back. I’d seen everything of her shell and there was little more to her than the pretty shell. I tried to break up with her.
She didn’t take it well. I’d taken her to a quiet place in the back of a wood just outside the place I lived. I told her I was done… and then she pulled out a knife, and tried to stab me. I asked her who knew she was here with me. “Nobody,” she said honestly. So I grabbed her hand, took the knife and slit her throat.
I told you I was inexperienced at the time. Her blood was all over me, and she gurgled for what seemed like an eternity before the blood stopped flowing.
In this wood there is a tiny knoll. You can still see it today, if you know where to look. It’s in the wood, but away from the paths. Most people who get in this wood, don’t notice it at all. I knew of its existence, as I’d grown up in this area, and had ventured off the beaten tracks more than a few times. In the north side of this knoll I dug a hole. It took some time as I hadn’t planned for this, believe me! Had I planned, I would’ve taken a spade with me.
Once the hole was big and deep, I put her and my bloody clothes in, and closed it up. It was a strange and liberating experience, carrying a cold corpse through the woods for the first time. It’s almost like losing your virginity; you’ll never forget it.
By the time I was done, it was dark. I sneaked home, showered, burnt the rest of my clothes, and went to bed. The next morning, I got my second tattoo. It’s a tattoo of a fly; it ’s on the shoulder the spider will never reach, because I’ll never touch her again.
So now you know: when you meet me, and see the red-back on one shoulder and a whole lot of flies on the other: run. The flies I caught, didn’t.