Hollawien: Part 1-1 of 3

  It’s a beautiful summer evening for chasing girls who are known to run slow. My buddy Tony and I are bar hopping in search of adventure. Our measure of success is very low, get drunk, get laid, or get in a fight. Number one’s a given, either of the next two makes it memorable. A trifecta makes it legendary. Tony heard of a house party in the Bushwick section of Queens. Unfortunately he had been working on step one of our evening plans he got the address wrong and we found ourselves on the wrong block. We were forced to cut through backyards and alleys to get over where we needed to be in order to work on the next phase of our evening’s adventure.

  “Hey Tony, I gotta piss, gimme a second.” I call out to my friend as he begins to ascend the stairway of a six story walkup he swears has an exit onto the next block.

  “What, you need me to watch?” He called back laughing, “Or hold it for you? Do what you gotta do, I’ll be on 141st St.” I watch as he disappears around the stair’s next landing.

  After a cursory glance behind me, I step into the small alley between the houses, unzip and manipulate myself out of my boxers, briefly close my eyes and sigh as the pressure I’ve been holding since we got off the 6 train fifteen minutes ago gently releases itself onto the brick wall. Giving myself a quick shake to knock out any remaining drops, I open my eyes, tuck in and zip before turning to follow Tony through the building. I’m surprised at the Silhouette of a girl in a short dress standing halfway up the first flight of stairs.

  “Oh, uh sorry.” I stammer, “I didn’t see you standing there.”

  “That’s OK,” she replies in a voice that erases any embarrassment I felt at the thought of being caught. “Everybody’s got to go don’t they?

  Something about the lilt in her voice, the slightly non-specific accent, her tone immediately puts me at ease; I’ve never heard anything like it.  Stepping down towards me into the bright light cast by the large argon light mounted high above the doorway I can see her clearly. She’s small, maybe five feet tall and can’t be more than fifteen year’s old. I take a quick breath and my stomach involuntarily tightens as I see her face. Although she’s wearing an undersized NY Yankee baseball cap that’s shielding the light from her eyes, I can clearly make out her features. Her dark skin, almond shaped eyes, small almost button shaped nose and full slightly glistening lips are as if every individually attractive feature I’ve even been turned on by had been formed into one perfect vision. ‘She’s beautiful,’ I think. ‘More than that, she’s legendarily beautiful.’

  For some reason I think of Agamemnon and his fight for Helen of Troy; I’d fight and kill for this face. I don’t even know her, yet I’d do anything to defend and protect her.

  “Would you do me a favor.” She said this as a statement of fact, not as a request for help as though she knew I would comply no matter she asked. And she was right I would, as if it were my duty as a man.

  “Absolutely, whatever you need, I have time.” I said this even though I knew I didn’t, Tony was a few blocks away now waiting for me. I couldn’t help it; I was mesmerized in her eyes.

  “What’s your name?” She asked and then bit the corner of her lip and tilted her head a little sideways, her strawberry blonde ponytails bouncing as she moved. I felt a stir and slight stiffening in my baggie khakis.

  “Osvaldo Gustavo Menendez.” I reply. ‘I never use my full name?’ immediately jumps into my head.  “Um Gus, people call me Gus.”

  “Well Osvaldo Gustavo Menendez, dash Um Gus.” Her smile frames the whitest teeth I had ever seen. “I need some help with my light, right up there, if that’s Okay.”

  She half turned and pointed up the stairs, her pleated plaid miniskirt bellowed slightly revealing muscular thighs that fill the skirt out in what appears to be a perfectly shaped ass. I turn slightly to the side hoping she doesn’t notice the beginnings of a slight bulge in my khakis.

  ‘No, ask your dad, a neighbor, it’s not appropriate.’ Is what came to mind, “sure, no problem.” I said instead. ‘What the hell’s wrong with me?’ My inner goody-two-shoes interjects, ‘she’s too young, just a teenager.’

  With a slight wave to follow, “Okay its right up here. Um Gus.” She says with a little shrug and another teasing bite at her plump lip. She begins ascending the staircase but stops suddenly and turns back to me. ‘Damn, I know she caught me staring at her legs.’

  A sly smile confirms my thought, “By the way, I’m Erica and this shouldn’t take long at all.”

  Because she had stopped a step or two up the staircase, I couldn’t help but notice that her tight white button down top, which was now directly at my eye level, hinted  that she had very full round breasts. They were, in the immortal words of the singer Bob Segar, “way up firm and high.”

  ‘My God, I think I’m going to jail for this. Men go to prison for this exact thing. What the hell.’ My inner thoughts continue to be rational even though my actions could be viewed as those of a pedophile, a predator of young girls.

  I follow her up the steps, my eyes burning a line from the backs of her jet black shoes past her frilly topped ankle socks to her smooth slightly rounded calves that curve back at the knee to the little pockets of smooth flesh in the back of her kneecap.

  The deviant thought, ‘I want to lick right there’ pops into my head. I continue to drink in every step as she reaches the first landing and spins to turn up the next. My eyes once again catch sight of those thighs; these were the legs of a gymnast or dancer. They were muscular but not to the point of being a body builder’s grotesquely misshapen limbs. I want to plant my head between them and feel the power within on my ears. I’m having an uncomfortable time walking up steps now that I’m so aroused. I was beyond trying to fight it anymore. I was going to spend the rest of my life as someone’s bitch. If she wanted me, I’d do whatever she’d let me.


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