Shortstory

** Allison** Just unzip your inhibitions but, honey, leave on those shoes…

"Sometimes, I don't even know what I'm doing or where I am, actually, it would be more accurate if I said 'rarely do I know where I am or what I'm doing' I just giggle and enjoy the moment!" Allison is cooing with delight as she twitches uncontrollably in the throws of her high, a small trickle of blood is escaping her left nostril and she's licking it away and loving life. She rolls off the plush red velvet couch onto the cool white tile floor and wearing only a read lace thong and a white Van Hueusen dress shirt, she crawls seductively across the floor to where Ian Pierce is sitting. Small drops of blood are cascading from her upper lip and the girl is sexy, slightly--almost anorexic thin but full breasts, dark hair, and a pussy that hangs slightly agape at all times compensate her thinness. The reason for her anatomical agapeness even she doesn’t know, more is she aware that it is a very recent change. Only he, only Ian Pierce knows the true reason for the change and that in itself is enough to make her more appealing, because he knows she let him do it, or was at least out of her mind enough to allow him to cause that great change. Crawling slowly, seductively towards Ian she slithers on her hands and knees, those delicate sliding hands covered with a fine white powder, that speaks in volumes just what her personality is governed by. The cocaine on her hands make them numb and her knees are slipping on the clear red fluid she’s seeped onto the floor and everything in the room is bright and caustic and austere. Ian knows the cocaine is killing her but he loves to bring her the gift of happiness because it makes her smile and it makes her want to fuck and it’s beautiful the way everything is sexual with Allison when she’s coked up and he’s convinced himself that none of this is real, that she isn’t real. So as she snakes herself towards him, he’s undoing his pants and stroking his cock in preparation and Allison is licking her lips, the blood staining her teeth and she can’t feel or taste it because the coke has number her and everything tastes the same. Ian is looking at her as she slides his rock hard dick into her mouth and she’s sucking hard on it and he loves her. She’ moaning in unison with him and he’s looking at her, he lovers her and the sounds of her moaning are accompanied by her snorting. She’s discovered a pile of cocaine on the cushion next to Ian and she’s snorting handfuls of it as she sucks rabidly on his cock. He hates her and loves her, her actions are evil but her mouth is heaven and she’s sucking harder now as her body shakes and convulses. He’s in love with her but she’s biting and gagging and it’s annoying mix with all the love. She’s moaning and making wonderful gurgling- goosing- guttural noises and it’s magic and feels like a warm wet bath on his penis, but she is unmoving and the noise and shaking has subsided and there is blood everywhere and he wants to fuck it. She’s dead and he knows it, she’s limp and she’s spent and it smells of shit and piss in the room and he knows it’s because her body has evacuated itself. Staring at her, he knows he’s sad and will cry someday, but it seems too poetic of a moment to waste it with tears. It was magic and he needs to go before that vision is skewed. He moves her head around a bit, the dead weight of her lifeless skull uncomfortably heavy upon his balls. S o he alters it position slightly by grabbing a handful of her hair he pulls her fragile head from where it pushes hard into him, her chin at last desisting from slamming into his tender scrotum. This all seems wrong, but it is the way Allison would’ve wanted things. She wouldn’t have wanted for him to not get off, to not fill her with his precious seed. Even with all this movement he keeps his dick full on in her mouth as he bucks his hips unrelentlessly into her lifeless body, pushing his throbbing cock deep into her bleeding oral orifice. He fucks it hard, feeling her soft little nose smashing into the area just above dick and her nose is growing cold and the sensation of her flaccid tongue lasing uncontrollably around his more than average girth excites him. His balls are tight and he wants to explode and he’s moaning and pulling out. He pushes her with such force that her lifeless clump of a body tumbles backward and her head bounces on the floor. He giggles as his hands meet his penis then composes himself and he’s standing over her stroking his reddened member wildly and he frantically murmurs sweet nothings as he comes hard across her bare pale tits, the sound of semen splashing upon her soft white flesh a faint whisper in the deafening silence of the room. Kneeling over her corpse, his cock jerks and twitches in it’s own little dance of post orgasmic ecstasy “This place is a fucking shit hole baby, you really should quit doing coke and move up in the world.: he exclaims to the empty apartment as he wipes her down with a lemon scented moist towelette. “But I certainly don’t want my come to incriminate me in your death, baby, you understand? Don’t you? Well don’t rush to answer, it’s best not to rush such things…” He smiles at the way he’s posed her hunched over the toilet--cocaine strewn all across the floor-- her face forced into a smile. Her own shit delicately smeared across her buttocks and the floor surrounding her. The piss collected in a dustpan and dribbled across her splayed things. “It’s beautiful baby, just the way I think you would’ve wanted it. It’s art work and it’s magic and there are pictures I’m sure you’d love to see, but you can’t.: Ian says with a sneer as he scoops up a small pinch of cocaine, sniffs it then rubs his gums down. “Yesterday - well everything was better yesterday and you were beautiful, but now you’re just shit and you’re covered in it too, what happened to you baby?” No tears for Allison as he backs out of the apartment and remembers the way things were before, with another girl that didn’t die on his dick. One last look through the door and the picture panted is not one of clean austerity, but one of comfortable disarray. There are no pristine white tile floors, only dirty again carpet soaked with the essence of cat urine. There is no plush red davenport, only a tattered broken couch. Her apartment wasn’t a penthouse, her apartment was a dump, but it used to be chic before the advent of Allison. With lips like sugar and a mouth born from pure magic it was hard to imagine her life was so far in the opposite realm of reason it sickened but it was. It’s a pity to think about and no one needs that bringing them down anyway. Happiness exudes fro him as he clicks the bringing them down anyway. Happiness exudes from him as he clicks the door softly shut and as he bounds down the stairs his mind is finally clear because he’s thinking of other girls and how he can fuck them. Tomorrow will be better because all of this is behind him and how seduction is beautiful and women are like pot roast.

Excerpt from Chapter 2-

Who could’ve guessed the 1990’s would be such a disappointment, who would’ve thought that if we had looped 1978-1989 with an eight second cross fade it would have been like one glorious endless song- a perfect song.

Taking a drag on her cigarette, she stared across the table at the stained walls. Letting her imagination go, she imagined the dark red spots were blood, and someone sitting just where she was had their brains blown out from the back of their head, maybe by an enraged ex lover or a drug dealer out for revenge. Smiling at her own foolishness, she let the smoke sift through her lips, savoring the taste of tobacco, and wondering when her phone might ring, if at all.

In that split second between smile and exhale, he noticed her. He noticed the curves of her lips when she smiled, and the way her lips pouted around the cigarette, and the pink stains on the white tip of the filter. He noticed how her green eyes wandered the wall across from her, and how her black fingernails were bitten down to the quick. Thinking to take opportunity when opportunity arose, he tried to nonchalantly walk over to her, tried to saunter like they did in the old westerns, hoping she wouldn’t notice how fast his heart was beating. Hoping that his grey eyes wouldn’t betray his hope. And how much he wanted this, her. Finishing her cigarette, she smashed it into the ashtray with a pent up anger she didn’t feel like addressing. Reaching for her purse, she shuffled around to find her pack of Marlboro Lights, only to find when opening it, that it was empty. Sighing in frustration, she smashed the pack and threw it into the ashtray with her still smoldering butt. Then, feeling a tap on her shoulder, she looked over to see one white cigarette being offered to her in a tan hand. When he saw she was out of smokes, he thought his luck might be turning up, and sauntering closer, he pulled out his own pack and one slender stick, to offer to her. Knowing that a kindness done is a kindness received, he hoped to find a good grace for a first impression. She smiled at the tan hand and took the cigarette, grateful that someone in the world was still friendly. Letting her eyes move away from the tan hand, her sight traveled up a body that she knew only too well. A body that she had been trying hard to forget. The smile leaving her mouth, and her eyes closing slightly, she let a snarl form on her mouth. He motioned to sit down, and then looked at her askance, as if to ask, “May I?” And she nodded, almost imperceptibly, knowing that she couldn’t run this time. And he slid into the booth, covering the red stains on the wall, as if shutting out all fantasy worlds and slamming reality into her face.

“Hello, Cecilia.” His voice was raspy, an effect of too many cigarettes and coughs.

“And hello to you, too, John.” She murmured.

“You know that I-“ he started.

And she cut him off there. Holding her hand up to stop him, she lit up the cigarette and took a drag. Looking at him, she exhaled slowly, letting her eyes drift over him, lovingly, at the face she knew so well. And his heart leapt into his throat when he saw her smile, hoping beyond hope, that she would say the words he wanted to hear. He hoped that those green eyes would finally concede, and he could be whole again. But the harsh words that came out of her mouth sent that heart in his throat plummeting down into his stomach, shredding his hopes. “You know your prick isn’t bigger than this fag I’m smoking,” she motioned at him with the hand holding that cigarette, “and you never were one for words. So why would I take you back?” Letting the false smile slide off her face, she smashed the cigarette into the ashtray and slid out of the booth. Slowly, and still looking at him, she shook her head, and left. He sat at the booth, looking at the empty table with its filled ashtray, and got angry. Slamming his fist onto the seat next to him, he stood up and stomped out of the place. Rushing from the booth with him in it, she ran out the door and around the corner, and slamming her back into the brick wall, she sobbed. Tears going down her cheeks, she choked on words she knew she wanted to say, and things she never could. He was too good for her, and she could never make him whole, when she was so incomplete. Without her, he could accomplish something. Without him, she could die in peace. Storming out of the place, he turned the corner, and stopped mid-step. His eyes widened at what he saw. There she was, his dream, his strong girl, crying. He saw the streaks of black running down her cheeks, the remnants of what had been her mascara. He couldn’t help but smile, hope filling his heart once more. Then she looked up. Green eyes met grey, and time stood still.