Content… warning…? Implied something uncouth, also kidnapping & rufies. And references to just about every country song ever made. And I actually listen to country.
It was the sort of thing country songs were made of: you go out, you drink with your buddies, you meet a pretty girl in painted-on jeans, you get her in your truck, and you go out to the fields.
It was the sort of thing your weekends had been made of, to be honest, different girls – college girls, sometimes, townies or passing visitors other times – different fields, same truck, same weekend, over and over again.
She had eyes the color of a cloudless sky and hair like wheat just before harvest; she was as perfect as God could make her and you didn’t pay much attention to the strange necklace she was wearing; she was a college girl, she said, majoring in agriculture. They did funny things.
Then you woke up in the back of your truck bed, and someone had used those tie-downs for all the wrong reasons, ’cause you were spread-eagled and couldn’t barely move. And the blonde was drawing on you in what you hoped to God wasn’t actually blood. And, Lord above help you, there was country music blaring from your truck.
“You’re perfect,” the blonde was telling you. “Absolutely perfect. You’ll make the crops grow. You’ll make the babies grow.”
And suddenly the music sounded a lot more ominous.
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