II. CHRISTMAS MORNING
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IN WHICH OUR HERO HAS HIS WAY WITH OUR HEROINE
WHO, SPREAD OUT LIKE A SNOW ANGEL, REMAINS FROZEN, FEELING NOTHING
And A Lifetime Of Desire Is Gratified In An Instant, Almost.
(Part Two; Part One is HERE.)
Kris awoke in a stew of his own sweat. The Waikiki apartment had no air conditioning, and no circulation with the bedroom door closed. He lay in the recliner for a few moments trying to get his wits about him. It was morning, the sun was out, it was light. But what morning? Ah, yes, Christmas morning. He wanted to go back to sleep.
Christmas was not a happy time for Kris. Throughout his childhood, his violently alcoholic parents had always chosen the holidays to act out in the worst possible way. Every year now as Thanksgiving and Christmas approached, all Kris could think of was cops and ambulances, jails and hospital rooms, courts and newspapers, lawyers' and doctors' bills that had always meant no Christmas presents. He was perfectly happy to let the holidays pass without note. But the world would not allow that. At least, not the retail side of it. The world just had to get in everyone's face, at the worst possible times.
Sleep was always preferable to being awake. It was Kris' drug. He didn't need narcotics, as long as he could slide from depression into unconsciousness. There, it was always warm and comfy. No one threatened you when you didn't exist. Sleep was the only escape he had from the real world. On any other Christmas morning, Kris would have retreated into his cave of sleep.
But today, on this Christmas morning, there was an unique surprise waiting for Kris. A girl, a very pretty young girl, in his bed. The sudden remembrance of this motivated Kris to bring his reclining chair upright, and to grunt his way out of it. He wanted water, but first he had to p*ss. The Bathroom was off the bedroom, so he had to go in there, where the whoring princess lay asleep.
There she was, like a filthy little angel, spread out on his nasty mattress, which had no sheets or pillows. He'd found it by the side of the road one night, and brought it home to lay it upon the floor, without a box spring or a frame. Not a proper bed at all, really. Just a pallet on the floor. He didn't notice the evil-looking stains until the first morning after he'd slept on it. He never had any sheets or pillows at all; he was used to sleeping in the recliner in the living room. Now Holly the Ho was passed out in his bed, snoring away on the bare dirty mattress.
Kris went and had his p*ss, and a drink of water straight from the tap in the bathroom sink. He washed his face and hands with just cold water and dried them in a dirty towel. He went back into the bedroom and called out to the girl in his bed. No reaction. He kicked the mattress, then tried sitting in it, right next to her. She was soft and warm and female-smelling. He shook her arm and she didn't move. She was astonishingly pretty. Kris sat and stared at her a long while.
Kris touched the girl's sweet young face. Her dirty skin was soft and smooth. He ran his fingers along her jawline, and down her neck. Her chest was moving slightly with her shallow breaths. He traced the outlines of her small breasts, and followed the contour of her convex belly to her tight little shorts. He tried to slip his hand under her waistband, but it was too tight. He trailed his fingers along the zipper, and down between her legs. She never moved.
Kris brought his nose down to her crotch, inhaling her fragrance, smelling her sex and her ass. He sniffed her feet and her legs, her arms and her armpits, her neck and her chest, her face and her hair. He wanted to remember the smells of her forever. He savoured them all and committed them to his deepest memory. He ran his fingers through her soft red hair, and caressed her perfect face.
Kris sat up then, and stopped touching her. He knew he could do anything he wanted to her, by force or with payment. All he wanted to do was kiss her, everywhere. He leaned over her face and kissed her gently on the lips. He had never kissed a girl so beautiful. She didn't respond at all. He kept kissing her, pressing his mouth to hers, licking her lips without penetrating them, tasting her. It was exquisite, better than any sex he'd ever had. He only wished she could kiss him back. But he knew she never would. Still, it was the best Christmas ever.
Kris wanted to take off Holly's clothing, but it was all too tight. Her T-shirt was knotted below her breasts, and he couldn't undo the knot. Her short-shorts buttoned all the way down; the shorts were too tight to get at the buttons. Kris was afraid he would awaken the girl, and spoil everything. Having her helpless in his bed was a waking dream; but if she woke up, he was afraid the dream would end. She would never let him do the things he was doing now, even for money. She might be willing to have sex with him for money, raw and crude, but she would never allow him to really make love to her, to worship and cherish her perfect body, to love her.
Kris thought he might go nuts, he wanted to see her naked so bad. He wanted to take off his clothes and lay beside her, holding her close and feeling her warm soft skin against his own. But if she woke up, she might scream. She might be carrying a knife or a razor blade. She might hurt him, or have him arrested. He could not stop wanting her. It was the worst Christmas ever, a lifetime of frustrations relived in an instant.
Kris didn't care what happened. He would cut off her clothing with a scissors, if he had to. He would get some kind of knock-out drops and put them in her mouth, so she wouldn't wake up. He would be very very quiet and very very gentle, whatever it took. He had to have her.
Suddenly Holly's eyelids flickered open. She was still in a daze, her eyes wouldn't focus. She didn't seem to see him. Her eyelids shut for a moment, and then reopened. Her eyes fixed on Kris. He didn't dare move. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Holly seemed to fall back to sleep. It was eight o'clock, Christmas morning.
[ PART THREE copyright 2008 Cosa Nostradamus.]
.
.
IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM YOUR BLOGGERS:
SUPPORT OUR TROOPS: BRING THEM ALL HOME ALIVE, NOW!
IN WHICH OUR HERO HAS HIS WAY WITH OUR HEROINE
WHO, SPREAD OUT LIKE A SNOW ANGEL, REMAINS FROZEN, FEELING NOTHING
And A Lifetime Of Desire Is Gratified In An Instant, Almost.
(Part Two; Part One is HERE.)
Kris awoke in a stew of his own sweat. The Waikiki apartment had no air conditioning, and no circulation with the bedroom door closed. He lay in the recliner for a few moments trying to get his wits about him. It was morning, the sun was out, it was light. But what morning? Ah, yes, Christmas morning. He wanted to go back to sleep.
Christmas was not a happy time for Kris. Throughout his childhood, his violently alcoholic parents had always chosen the holidays to act out in the worst possible way. Every year now as Thanksgiving and Christmas approached, all Kris could think of was cops and ambulances, jails and hospital rooms, courts and newspapers, lawyers' and doctors' bills that had always meant no Christmas presents. He was perfectly happy to let the holidays pass without note. But the world would not allow that. At least, not the retail side of it. The world just had to get in everyone's face, at the worst possible times.
Sleep was always preferable to being awake. It was Kris' drug. He didn't need narcotics, as long as he could slide from depression into unconsciousness. There, it was always warm and comfy. No one threatened you when you didn't exist. Sleep was the only escape he had from the real world. On any other Christmas morning, Kris would have retreated into his cave of sleep.
But today, on this Christmas morning, there was an unique surprise waiting for Kris. A girl, a very pretty young girl, in his bed. The sudden remembrance of this motivated Kris to bring his reclining chair upright, and to grunt his way out of it. He wanted water, but first he had to p*ss. The Bathroom was off the bedroom, so he had to go in there, where the whoring princess lay asleep.
There she was, like a filthy little angel, spread out on his nasty mattress, which had no sheets or pillows. He'd found it by the side of the road one night, and brought it home to lay it upon the floor, without a box spring or a frame. Not a proper bed at all, really. Just a pallet on the floor. He didn't notice the evil-looking stains until the first morning after he'd slept on it. He never had any sheets or pillows at all; he was used to sleeping in the recliner in the living room. Now Holly the Ho was passed out in his bed, snoring away on the bare dirty mattress.
Kris went and had his p*ss, and a drink of water straight from the tap in the bathroom sink. He washed his face and hands with just cold water and dried them in a dirty towel. He went back into the bedroom and called out to the girl in his bed. No reaction. He kicked the mattress, then tried sitting in it, right next to her. She was soft and warm and female-smelling. He shook her arm and she didn't move. She was astonishingly pretty. Kris sat and stared at her a long while.
Kris touched the girl's sweet young face. Her dirty skin was soft and smooth. He ran his fingers along her jawline, and down her neck. Her chest was moving slightly with her shallow breaths. He traced the outlines of her small breasts, and followed the contour of her convex belly to her tight little shorts. He tried to slip his hand under her waistband, but it was too tight. He trailed his fingers along the zipper, and down between her legs. She never moved.
Kris brought his nose down to her crotch, inhaling her fragrance, smelling her sex and her ass. He sniffed her feet and her legs, her arms and her armpits, her neck and her chest, her face and her hair. He wanted to remember the smells of her forever. He savoured them all and committed them to his deepest memory. He ran his fingers through her soft red hair, and caressed her perfect face.
Kris sat up then, and stopped touching her. He knew he could do anything he wanted to her, by force or with payment. All he wanted to do was kiss her, everywhere. He leaned over her face and kissed her gently on the lips. He had never kissed a girl so beautiful. She didn't respond at all. He kept kissing her, pressing his mouth to hers, licking her lips without penetrating them, tasting her. It was exquisite, better than any sex he'd ever had. He only wished she could kiss him back. But he knew she never would. Still, it was the best Christmas ever.
Kris wanted to take off Holly's clothing, but it was all too tight. Her T-shirt was knotted below her breasts, and he couldn't undo the knot. Her short-shorts buttoned all the way down; the shorts were too tight to get at the buttons. Kris was afraid he would awaken the girl, and spoil everything. Having her helpless in his bed was a waking dream; but if she woke up, he was afraid the dream would end. She would never let him do the things he was doing now, even for money. She might be willing to have sex with him for money, raw and crude, but she would never allow him to really make love to her, to worship and cherish her perfect body, to love her.
Kris thought he might go nuts, he wanted to see her naked so bad. He wanted to take off his clothes and lay beside her, holding her close and feeling her warm soft skin against his own. But if she woke up, she might scream. She might be carrying a knife or a razor blade. She might hurt him, or have him arrested. He could not stop wanting her. It was the worst Christmas ever, a lifetime of frustrations relived in an instant.
Kris didn't care what happened. He would cut off her clothing with a scissors, if he had to. He would get some kind of knock-out drops and put them in her mouth, so she wouldn't wake up. He would be very very quiet and very very gentle, whatever it took. He had to have her.
Suddenly Holly's eyelids flickered open. She was still in a daze, her eyes wouldn't focus. She didn't seem to see him. Her eyelids shut for a moment, and then reopened. Her eyes fixed on Kris. He didn't dare move. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Holly seemed to fall back to sleep. It was eight o'clock, Christmas morning.
[ PART THREE copyright 2008 Cosa Nostradamus.]
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Labels: addict, blues, Chinatown, christmas, cocaine, crack, downtown, driver, hawaii, ho, holiday, Honolulu, prostitute, story, street, taxi, underage, Waikiki, whore, Xmas
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posted by Cosa Nostradamus @ 12/25/2008 12:07:00 AM
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2 Comments:
Good chapter, but I'm getting worried about Kris. I guess Holly is used to treatment worse than that, but the poor girl is just 18. What she needs is to be weaned off crack.
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Exactly.
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