Giallo Blues

I’m walking again. I have to every night. It’s my mission; my calling. I can’t explain it, can’t describe it, can’t deny it. Can’t deny it. I’m going to find someone tonight. I know it. I find someone every night.

Christy sat alone, at a table in the donut shop. The lights flickered above her, and a stray fly crawled in front of her coffee. She took a long sip, and hoped that she wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. Not that she cared if her life ended or not, but she wasn’t done with her work yet. She imagined the painting she was working on at Jamie’s apartment, or more appropriately, the painting she wanted to make.

The actual work wasn’t going very well. She brushed away strands of her deep red hair away from her nose, and finished the coffee, just as it grew chilly. So much work to do, and it comes out so badly. And what good will it do? Maybe she would win that fifty-dollar prize in the college’s literary magazine. Maybe her art professor would like it. Maybe she’d sell it to some random friend, or a total stranger. All of these things she thought, as she pushed her way out the doors, into the night. For only a second, she felt a twinge of butterflies in her stomach. She thought little of it.

I know it’s one AM. I don’t know how, but I do. I’m in front of some store. I don’t know how I got here. What state am I in? What country? America, I suppose, since everything is in English. And I’ve seen enough British coffee shops to know that this is not one. Canada? Nothing in French. Doesn’t matter. I know someone is here for me. And here she is, walking out. I catch her eyes for just a second.

She thought she saw a man standing on the side of the road, outside the parking lot, out of the corner of her eye. She could feel him, but when she looked over there was nothing. But she could feel a heat rising in her. Not heat from the weather; it was late autumn, and in the dead of night. But a heat none the less. She closed her eyes as she walked and surprised herself by imagining her boyfriend, three hundred miles away at home.

I know she doubts herself. She doesn’t know why she’s majoring in art history. She thinks her work is crap. I cannot judge that. I know she misses her boyfriend. She’s faithful to him. And I’m moved as I learn even more. She hasn’t had sex with him. He fears pregnancy. His parents would disown him if she had an abortion. So he’s being safe. And it’s eating at her. I see she’s torn by her faithfulness. She’s frustrated that she’s saving herself for him. And she’s frustrated that she’s had no opportunities to cheat. I see that she’s not popular with men.

She’s cold sometimes. She appreciates solitude. She does not need to party every night. She likes to work. She’s funny when you know her. And I look at her again, having learned all of these things with but a casual glance, and I find her beautiful. She has long red hair. Her nose is a bit pointed, but distinct. Her eyes are incredible, heavy with sleep but burning with intelligence. Steely glare. A few assorted pimples on her face. She’s wearing a long brown overcoat, and old sneakers. She is ideal to me. I love how she doesn’t really care, but beats herself up for it. I love her confusion. I love how she puts on no airs. She’s so beautiful, so beautiful. So flawed. So beautiful. She deserves so much more.

Christy was halfway to her car, and still thinking about her far away man. She hated how she couldn’t visit him on the weekends. Actually, if she wanted to she could, but she felt no urge to. She also hated how she had no art supplies at her dorm. Damn lack of cash. She stopped for a second. Thought she heard something.

She’s mine tonight. I look into her. I look through her. I give.

In a second, the heat within Christy rose. Like Ecstasy, but with no rush. Pure heat. She stumbled to her car, and couldn’t find the strength to unlock it. She sat on the ground and began to breathe very deeply. She was afraid that she was sick. But then she realized that she was not. She was enjoying the heat. She could feel herself growing tight. She was horny. Hornier than she had ever been before. She shut her eyes and smiled and panted as she began to sweat wildly. Her skin felt good, so hungry for human touch. She imagined her boyfriend slowly stroking her skin with the tips of her fingers, just how she liked it. Just how she wanted him to do all the time.

Was she that loathsome to the touch? Not now. Not now. And when she opened her eyes, she realized that she was actually feeling it, all over her body, under her clothes. The heat was getting to be too much to bear. She stood up and dropped her coat off. She wore a black T-shirt and old baggy jeans. She had to lean up against her car, as the feeling on her skin had intensified with the dropping of her coat. They were kisses now. Dozens of unseen lips kissing every inch of her body, all at the same time. Her eyes shut and she saw countless naked men.

They groaned and growled in pleasure as they kissed her, their hands growing wet as they stroked their dicks. Men’s penises did not look that perfect in real life. All long and lean. Not fat, but like long muscles. Deep and red. They were perfect for her, taking their pleasure from her. She opened her eyes, and the world spun before her.

I see she’s enjoying it. She's grinning her Cheshire grin as her knees buckle beneath her. She’s lost in happiness, pure physical joy. She’s trying to kick her shoes off; they’re still tied and she’s having trouble. I’m happy I found her; she’s cute. I cannot stress the importance of cuteness in a woman. It’s a valuable thing, the gleam of innocence, of trust in her eyes, as you lay on her and devour her, and she does the same to you; the serpent eating its tail.

Christy kicked the last of her shoes off. The wonderful kisses on her toes transformed to something better. Soft, sharp pangs of unbearable hotness and rough texture. Her feet were being licked. She lied down, her jaw beginning to drop from the pleasure. It was one of her deepest, most cherished fantasies to have a man service her feet. And now countless men seemed to be indulging her, and in every way she had dreamed. Every so often the licks on her feet would change to sucking, mostly of her toes. She did not want this to end. Ever.

And still the kisses on the rest of her body continued. She rubbed her feet together, which were still in her socks, so white and plain. After enjoying this special, private pleasure for a while, she tried to stand. She only made it to her knees. She hastily pulled the shirt up over her head, and she could not wait for the next level of feeling. She should have came by now, but the pressure in her was steadily growing harder and higher. As she revealed more of her flesh, the feelings in those revealed areas rose, like a magical sunlight striking them, teasing them. She was not cold at all, though she could see her own breath.

She’s so sexy, pulling off her shirt, her little belly hanging just slightly over her belt. I wish she was back in my bed. I know all her needs, all her secrets. I want to pleasure her all night. But then, that’s what I’m doing now. I notice she’s managed to stand now. Her pants fall effortlessly to the parking lot’s pavement. She’s so caught up in it; she doesn’t care who sees her. But I know nobody will, save for myself.

Christy kicked wildly, trying to get her jeans off. She succeeded and grasped the sides of her car, leaning her head down onto its roof. Her legs were spread so wide, and the pressure between them was growing slowly but with extraordinary power. She was moaning now. Her eyes were beginning to tear up. She glanced down at herself, and saw that her usually pale skin was flushed, and beaded with sweat. She was wearing her orange bra and panties, the lacy kind she liked. She saw that her panties were growing very damp. She was wetter than she had ever been before, in fact, since the licking was felt all over her body now.

So many tongues, some moving so wonderfully slow, some teasing and quick. It seemed every second her tits, so safe in her bra, were being sucked with tremendous force. The best though, were the tongues in her cunt. She had never been eaten out before. It felt like three guys were going at once now. Her clit felt so red, so inflamed. She could taste the men in her mouth, as the kisses there were wet too. They tasted like strawberries and red wine. She licked her lips over and over again. She drooled all over her face, and she began to cry with joy. Everyone she had ever known was a million miles away now, and she was all alone. And she was grateful for it. She had to be higher, to feel more and more.

After fumbling with her bra hook for a few seconds (it was hard to undo when her fingertips felt like they were being sucked), she simply ripped it off her chest. The lace gave easily. She smooshed her little boobs in her hands and caressed them. They were so hot and damp. Her nipples had never been so rock-solid before. She reached down to her panties, which were now soaked. She softly pulled the top down, releasing a soft bush of hair. The pleasure grew insane. She pulled them back up, and things died down a bit. Then she slowly pulled them down again and waves of heat and sensation invaded her once more. She continued to tease herself like that for minutes on end.

I love how resourceful she is. Standing there in only her socks and panties, playing with herself by proxy. Her breasts are small, barely a b-cup. But they’re flawlessly round, and look so soft to the touch. She doesn’t shave either. Wonderful. She’s unspectacular, and feeling such spectacular things. Her chunky little thighs. Her bouncy little ass. I have not cared for ‘sexy’ women since I began my journeys. There is so much more to see besides the ones who need no more attention.

She was losing it. She finally thrust the panties down to just above her knees, and began to scream with pleasure. She shut here eyes and saw herself as a princess, locked in a tower. Her suitors climbed in through the window and tore off all of her frilly gown and silky stockings. They pulled out their massive dicks and she pleasured all of them by hand, by mouth, even by foot. As she filled herself and tasted the salty sweetness of pre-cum, one entered her from behind, thrusting hard but slow. It felt so good to be the king’s only daughter, his virgin prize, and to fuck it all away. She opened her eyes but still felt it.

She swung her naked hips in unison with the invisible cock inside her, fucking her so well, so fully; she was almost afraid that her pussy couldn’t handle it. More than one seemed to be moving inside her; she was taking it from all directions. She lifted one leg up to give herself better leverage, which caused her panties to fall to the ground, off her other leg. The pressure in her rose and rose and rose. The kisses and taste of hot cum in her mouth. The sucking of her breasts. The licking all over her. The adoration of her feet. The endless dicks thrusting and pumping inside her throbbing cunt. She needed it to end; it was too much. She thrust two of her fingers inside herself.

The heat exploded inside her, and she shrieked aloud as the most gloriously relaxing orgasm that she had ever felt washed over her. In a few seconds the pleasure died down. She clumsily sat down on her clothes, so not to scratch herself, and the pleasure relapsed. She came again, for much longer. And after that, she lay down totally, and thrust fingers from both hands into her sopping pussy. She came a third time, and Christy milked every inch of pleasure out of it, enjoying it for a full minute, till she thought her lungs would burst. And finally, the feelings died away. She curled up into a fetal position, her body covered in sweat, drool, tears, and her own sexual juices, which coated the whole of her thighs. She was still smiling, and would be for the rest of the night.

I watch her enjoy the afterglow. She still has two more full sessions to go. One will hit when she’s driving home; she’ll pull over for an hour. The other will occur as she dresses for bed, and will last till the sun rises. Good thing her classes aren’t until two; she’ll be exhausted. I look at her again, rocking back and forth, and know I have done right again. She needed that. I want to talk to her. I want her to ask me why I did this to her. Why she’s felt things that few ever will.

Why I could be so cruel as to take her to the pinnacle of her life, and let her keep on going. And I would say to her that she would not continue alone. She would find sex with someone else, and he or she would please her more than I ever could, since they would be there to hold her afterwards. And I would shed a tear, because I didn’t really know that; I made it up. But at the very least, she would have this night, and that would be more than what many do have. I can’t talk to her, though. I feel like this with every woman I meet.

And there are more. There are countless other imperfect women out there. All are so gorgeous, all in their own ways. They need the highest pleasures possible, to reward them for living in this perfection obsessed world, as they are. There will be another tomorrow night. I walk on. And I’m back home. I must rest for tomorrow.