“The Bangalore butt stabber is back” the special news report proclaimed. Anita stopped folding the laundry and stared at the tv screen. She gave an involuntary chuckle at the ‘special’ news report. News today was special the same way kids used to be called special in the 80s she thought. Every idiot with some cash lying around seemed to be starting a 24/7 news channel. Anita figured she should advise her wealthy good-for-nothing cousin to start one too.
“There have been seven different cases of butt stabbings in Bangalore last month itself. Five of the seven victims are women. The only thing common to all the victims is that their behinds could be described as bootilicious.” Seriously? thought Anita, while she suppressed another chuckle. “We have renowned psychologist Mr. Hatele here with us to help us understand the psychology of this serial stabber” the news anchor said in all seriousness.
Anita thought the news anchor looked like a malnourished bird of prey. Anita could bet she had more stuffing in boobs than in her brains. “This is a classical example of a repressed sexual drive finding violent expression in a bizarre ritual” said the psychologist, pasting the few strands of his combover on to his pasty bald head, his protruding eyes made him look like a praying mantis.”At some point in his development this man began to fetishize …Umm…posteriors.” the psychologist added sounding embarrassment and aroused at the same time. “His fetish has advanced to a stage where he can experience release only by directing violence towards a…umm…butt. The butt stabber is a man in his late twenties, socially shy, unassertive and introverted. But he would have propensity for women with ample…um…bottoms. As the victims have been stabbed by different kinds of blades, it is safe to say the stabber has a collection of knives.” Anita switched off the tv and began to fold the clothes hurriedly.
Stupid people how did that stupid report help anyone she wondered. The psychologist has described most south Indian men. Didn’t all men like big butts? At least you would be hard pressed to find one who did not. But Anita could not fold away the sudden sense of uneasy she felt with the laundry. She looked across the room to where three different knives were displayed on the wall. Ankit was an avid collector of knives and daggers. Every place they visited, the first thing he did was track down the local variety of dagger and by one. He already had more than 30 of those things in his collection. And of course he liked butts too. Anita felt an involuntary clenching of her gluteus maximus. She shook her head and eased herself. She would not let some stupid report let her get paranoid about her husband.
She put the laundry away wondering about all the poor victims who had been stabbed. It must have been a nightmare to report it. What did they even say to the police, “excuse me officer, I have to lodge a complaint, I have been grievously stabbed in my ass?” She sniggered and wondered how many of these butt stabbings had gone unreported. She thought the people who had reported it were really brave to have admitted to having their behinds violated like that.
She wondered how a stabbing might take place. She imagined herself buying vegetables in the market, she was examining the ladie’s fingers bet over the vendors cart, breaking the top of each ladie’s finger, when suddenly…stab. It would be horrible. She couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit aroused, she thought ashamed. And she immediately thought of Ankit.
That was understandable; Ankit always greeted her by grabbing her butt. Ever since college, he would sneak upon her, and when she was not looking grab her ass and greet her with a corny,” hello sexy lady!” She had even slapped him a few times about it. She had fought with him over it but to no avail. She had finally let it go as an eccentricity she had to deal with.
Of course no one believed her when she told them he did it. “What?” They cried out “Sweet Ankit? He could never do such a thing”. Like they knew their sweet Ankit well enough! Her grandmother had warned her about the so called ‘introverts’ ,” those silent types, be careful of them, they are the deadliest.” Grandmother used to say, although Anita was not sure she was talking about people or farts. But come to think about it, Ankit had the face and demeanor to get away with murder if he wanted to. In a line up full of puppies Ankit would be the last person to be picked out.
Anita froze, she has been staring at the wall with the daggers and the Gurkha knife they had got for Nepal was missing. The sheath was still on the wall but the knife was nowhere to be seen. That is odd she thought, suppressing the automatic image of Ankit walking into the house with the dagger soaked in butt blood.
Anita realized that her butt was clenched tightly and unclenched it with effort. She was being stupid she told herself. But what about Ankit’s unhealthy interest in bubble butts. He always told her that her best feature was her bubble butt. She had always ignored it as another failed attempt at him trying to be sexy. He also greeted some of his male friends by slapping their behinds. She had always thought it was a weird thing to do but had chalked it up to being a sports watching ritual she did not understand. And in the beginning of their marriage he had shown a disproportionate interest in her posterior as compared to the rest of her. She had put up with all of the spanking, the grabbing and the weird caressing in the interest of her new marriage. Heck she has even allowed him to hold her by her butt in public. Who even does that?
A few months ago she had told him quite frankly that she did not enjoy all the attention her posterior was being exposed to. He had blushed like a beetroot and had backed off since then. He still touched it occasionally and she had caught him staring at it more times than she could count. How long ago was that? Six months now…And the report had said that was when the butt stabbings had started. But they had also stopped for a month she tried to reason with her paranoia. Yes because Ankit had been on a work trip that month came the paranoid answer.
Repressed sexual drive said the voice of the psychologist in her head. Oh my god, had she created the butt stabber by denying Ankit? She realized that she had already forgone the assumption that Ankit was the butt stabber! She clenched her butt hard this time; she had married a serial butt stabber! What should she do now? As far as the psycho types go a butt stabber is not that bad she thought. What would he do when he finds out I know? She imagined two perfectly round bubbles getting popped. She had to leave him. But what grounds did she have to leave him? No lawyer could get her a divorce on the basis that she was scared her husband would stab her in the ass. She panicked, looked around the house, only to find all the different kinds of daggers displayed in their stabby splendor. The door bell rang,” honey, I am home.” She clenched her butt hard.