Basically, what if one night a girl Alex bumped into happened to have an interest in him? How would things (pun intended) throw down?
"Oh?" I queried. "And what's all so fantastic about you, then, eh?"
She was silent, staring fixedly at that same expanse of water I'd tossed old Dim into what seemed like ages ago. I tried, O my brothers, to think of what I might have done to this young devotchka had it still been that age in time.
"Just that I know I'm better, I suppose," she said, and looked at me.
I viddied her hard.
She stared back for a stitch and then resumed her examination of the water.
And O, my brothers, I vidded real horrowshow like what I ought to do.
"Why have you sought me out?" I asked suddenly, a little rudely, but one can never be too careful these days.
She fiddled with her bag. "I've heard of you. I know you."
"Do you?" I asked with a bit of bite in it.
She turned over a flat-eyed, hollow-depth sort of gaze at me. "I do believe I do."
And I didn't quite like the way she said that there. Like she knew me and all. Like she'd read every scrap of paper ever telling about your humble narrator and his trials and tribulations in the staja and the justice system. Like she'd seen every picture and periodical of me.
So I reached out my rooker and grabbed her purse, thinking to like snatch it from her and itty on my way, only it was still slung across her shoulders, so it ended up so that I jerked her closer. She looked all alarmed like, and I must say I felt a bit sorry, O my brothers.
"Appy-polly-loggies," I said before I could stop myself, but didn't stop holding onto the strap.
Her rookers curled up around it and I just couldn't let it run.
"Give us a peck, then, love," I cajoled, and lunged forward as she like turned her litso to face me.
She took a little jump back, but I put my rooker round her shiyah and pulled her gulliver against mine. I pushed my yahzick inside her mounch, enjoying the feel of her lips against mine. Real horrowshow.
"Alex—" she crooned, and I pushed a rooker against her litso.
"Not a word, little sister, not a word." I gave a little lick of the litso and had a messel. "Care to come back to mine, then, eh?" She was silent for a moment, biting her lip like, and I added, "It's quite warm."
"Ready, then?" I asked, a little jeer and sneer in it, but then I saw her litso and I really looked at it. Really peered hard, O my brothers, and I saw her eyes all wide like, her rookers all a-trembling in mine.
And your humble narrator did something very odd. I asked again. "Alright, love?"
She like shook underneath me and I vidded she was a little poogly. "We don't have to, then. Supposing we just stop." She shook her head, I was about to nachinat, and then, little brothers, I stopped for I don't know why. "Sure, then, are you?"
And she like turned her glazzies away from mine and nodded.
Clockwork orange or not, no chelloveck's going to decline.
But I did something real odd. I like said all soft, "Appy-pollies, love—" and I pushed in all gentle like inside her and I viddied her in pain quite like all those ptitsas we'd given the old ultraviolence, and it kind of like shived into me. "—sorry—" I winced right as she winced from old Alexander the Large.
She like moaned and pulled away, O my brothers, and I didn't like it one bit, and I can't quite understand why. Not that she was pulling away, but that I do believe I wanted her closer. And I had a little messel that it might hurt her, hard as I was viddying.
"Ah—" she crooned.
"Appies, love," said I all low and quiet, panting like a kot in heat. Which, I suppose I was. "Hope it's nothing short of horrorshow." I pushed my hips all up flush up against hers, gentle like, rubbing my gulliver against her cheek.
"Oh—" she whispered, and when your humble narrator did it again, just a tad more insistent, a tad harder, running my hands across her litso and her lips and her groodies, kissing them all gentle like, she arched into me, throwing her head back a little bit into the pillows and moaned, O my brothers. "Oh, Alex," she like gasped.
And just that goloss of hers, O my brothers. Like an angel. And I couldn't help it. I remembered that day on the stage after the treatments when they said I was cured. I remembered that ptitsa all naked-like coming across the stage towards me. And the way they all looked at me on the stage there, getting all sick-like. And that ptitsa's face as she looked down at me choking on the floor after I creeched about wanting to her knight.
And now the ptitsa beneath me, just as nagoy. And there I was, lubbilubbing her. My rookers on her litso, stroking it all soothing-like.
But right that minoota, O little brothers, I felt something real zammechat inside. Not in the old gulliver—it was like coming from my guttiwuts. My litso opened and I could feel these like slovos about to dribble out, but I clenched the old mounch together. But then this ptitsa under me—skvating my pletchos tightly with her rookers, her glazzies screwed up tight—groaned all soft like and I felt the old tigers leap in me again and I could not, brothers, keep the slovos out anymore.
But they would not be said. I put my litso into the skin between her pletcho and shiyah and bit down hard, suckiwucking on the skin there so I wouldn't say them.
She gasped sharp like, trying to pull away, but I raised my litso and grabbed her rookers, holding them down by the wrist, and then I viddied the ittybitty spots of krovvy on her neck from my zoobies and, remembering how lovely it used to look to me, I breathed into her ear like a kot in heat who'd lost his rasoodock, "Sodding horrowshow," and then I put gulliver down and kissed her.
And it was like all different now. This ptitsa of mine melted like warm sakar against your humble narrator, all soft and pliable as I worked into her harder, till it was as if we were no longer two, O my brothers, until she skazated something into my lips before twisting her litso up to my ear and said all hushiwushed: "Deeper."
Have it your way then, thought I, but I obliged her, being the gentleman I am. I skvated her by the hips until she wormed one of her rookers through one of mine. I worked deeper inside her, then, till she was quite arched up and up and up and pressed flat against your humble narrator as we sat there, I rocking into her, my bed like crashing against the wall.
"Oh—" groaned she, like I had wrenched it out of her, and she came not a minoota before I broke and spattered and had to shut tight my litso to stop myself crying Ahhhhh from the bliss of it.
And I recalled, O my brothers, as I like fell atop this ptitsa into my beddiwed only wanting to spat, she rolled out from under me and like fell asleep herself there beside me.
****
Review, please.