The blonde I was staring at was crouching a couple of feet from me, biting her full lips, staring back at me, silent. Her piercing blue eyes examined every part of my body with curiosity, pausing for a moment here and there as if she were seeing a human being for the first time in her life.

She slowly reached her hand to undo two of her shirt buttons and tucked her index and middle fingers into the left cup of her bra, which was well above normal size. Then she took a shabby-looking cigarette out of it, straightened it out a bit, lit it, and took a deep breath. At last, she blew some smoke right into my face.

I remained still, just looking at her.

“You wanna take a puff?” she asked me after a while. She had a notable Midwestern accent, and her voice was melodic and quite pleasant. Since she didn’t receive any answer from me, she added, “I’ve got two more tucked into the other cup.”

I stayed silent again. Instead, I pictured the cigarettes there—tightly packed with the right boob—and I shuddered at the thought of me smoking weed. Nevertheless, after a few seconds, I decided to say something because I was afraid she might keep asking me to join her and keep blowing smoke into my face.

“Thanks,” I mumbled inarticulately because I still felt sick. “I’m too hot. I don’t feel like smoking right now!”

In fact, it was the very truth. I was really, really hot, and the water burned my back. All of this was actually a fancy idea of some of the previous tenants who had illegally tapped the central pipe for hot water, connected it to the radiator here, and then directed the flow back to where it came from. As a result, I had free heating during the winter and a hell of a furnace instead of a kitchen during the summer. And the most frustrating part of it all was that I couldn’t stop the damn thing even for a minute to fix it back the way it had been because it would block the water flow to the entire building. My only option was to keep my apartment doors and windows open and avoid this particular room until late October.

The blonde kept looking at me, smoking thoughtfully. Her eyes remained fixed on my wet shirt for a while as if she wanted to figure out my entire life, and the shirt was the key to it. On my part, I stared empty-headed at her gorgeous legs, which she held slightly apart, allowing me to examine her groins. Her skirt was too short to conceal anything, and I could see the bulge of a sanitary pad under the edge of her white panties. They both sulked at me from only two feet away.

The chick slowly finished her cigarette and stood up to grab a mug from the overflowing sink. Naturally, it was filled with the brown liquid, and after she put it to her nose and cautiously sniffed it, she tasted it, approved of it, and then crouched in front of me again, with the mug still in her hand.

“You’re right,” she admitted, nodding slightly. “It’s pretty hot in here and quite humid. I haven’t seen anyone else prepare coffee as you do. It reminds me of the hurricane season a couple of years ago when the Community Coffee warehouse in Louisiana was flooded. Is this how you like this stuff—matured?”

I didn’t answer. I just turned my head to look at the empty pack on the kitchen counter, wondering what the hell I had in mind there. I had clearly wanted to fix myself a hot drink, but why the extravagant way of preparing it? And why the weird need to restrain myself before doing it?

“So? You supply the Salvation Army or what?” The woman kept bombarding me with questions, whose answers I didn’t know.

“Could you please tell me what the hell you are doing here?” I just mumbled instead of explaining myself to her.

She looked at me, puzzled.

“What do you mean? You aren’t happy I saved your stupid ass?”

“I’m happy. I really am! But how did you get into my apartment?”

“Well, I used the door, of course! It was unlocked,” she said with a wry smile.

“Unlocked?” I barked in a hollow voice. “If it was unlocked, why did you keep kicking it for almost half an hour?”

The blonde puckered her lips, suddenly irritated.

“At that particular moment, I still had no idea it was unlocked,” she explained curtly. “And by the way, if I had given up, you’d still be sitting here alone with your kinky little handcuff fetish. You should be more thankful, actually!”

I frowned. My weird visitor slowly put the mug down on the floor and tucked her fingers into the right cup of her bra, taking the other two cigarettes out of it. They looked shabby and wrinkled too, but she obviously didn’t care. She lit one of them and leaned over to stare at me. I looked back at her and waited patiently. She hadn’t buttoned up her shirt yet, and I saw parts of her pink nipples showing over the edge of her bra.

After a couple of seconds, the woman suddenly took the cigarette out of her mouth, and before I knew it, she had put it in mine. It took me by surprise, and I had to inhale the smoke before having any chance to stop her. Eventually, I raised my free hand to beat the cigarette out of my lips, but weirdly enough, I only punched my nose and groaned painfully.

“Oh, come on! Don’t be such a fucking pussy!” The stranger giggled and tried to prevent me from spitting out the joint.

I glanced at her, still helpless and nauseous, and coughed loudly, then coughed again and again, until I suddenly threw up right into her bosom. It all happened somehow naturally. First, the world twirled around me; then I heard a ringing noise in my ears; then my head exploded; and at last, a Niagara Falls of all sorts of crap poured out of my mouth. I felt the entire sinful world, along with every wicked creature that had ever lived in it, weighing upon my shoulders, and like a fucking Jesus, I had to pay for all of their sins combined!

After I finished my first session, I puked a couple of times more, but not as intensely now. The woman’s snowy white shirt quickly turned brown, and her breasts looked just like Jenna Jameson’s butt in the corner of my kitchen. It was a really disgusting thing to see, but apparently, the blonde couldn’t care less. She literally melted with motherly love when she watched me vomit over her boobs, and she even held my head until it was over!

“Oh, boy! You seem to have never tried a pure, one hundred percent homemade joint from the Big Prairie,” I heard her say. “It’s so sad!”

Instead of replying, I spit twice and belched once because, obviously, my stomach was empty now and I had no material to throw up. My drug philanthropist waited a few more seconds, and when she realized I wouldn’t produce anything more, she let go of my head. Then she removed her violated shirt and bra, flinging them into the garbage bag under the sink.

“You know what?” she informed me curtly. “I’m gonna jump into the bathroom to take a quick shower. I honestly didn’t expect such an extreme reaction from you, you know!”

And after saying this, the woman took off her skirt and panties and threw them with the rest of her clothes. The sanitary pad fell on the floor but she didn’t take it.

“It’s such a pity for the cigarettes!” I heard her say it just a moment before her nicely shaped ass disappeared behind the kitchen doorway on its way to the bathroom.

Then everything else around me suddenly disappeared too.

When I woke again, what seemed to be only a few moments later, I found myself in the middle of a horrible catatonic spasm. It was such a shock! I was all wet, and my muscles hurt. I didn’t come to my senses right away, but at first, I had a vision of a huge gorilla jumping up on my stomach and a few others pulling at my arms and legs in different directions. One of the creatures suddenly beat on my chest with its heavy fist, which almost made me spit my lungs out, and while I desperately tried to swallow them back, the rest of the apes started clubbing my head with baseball bats and crying agitatedly. It all went on for a couple of awfully painful minutes and ended with me losing consciousness again. When I opened my eyes a second time, the blonde stood in front of me, still naked and wet. She had shaved her legs and the area in between, presumably with my safety razor in the bathroom.

“Look at you, you naughty boy!” She exclaimed happily and smiled at me when she saw the result of my “naughty” deeds on the floor. “You did it again, didn’t you? I’m really sorry I wasn’t here to hold your head!”

Then she blew me an air kiss and abruptly turned around and walked to the living room—probably to look for a towel or something. She opened the wardrobe and rummaged through it, with her butt sticking out and bobbing up and down. Watching the entire show in the mirror outside in the corridor, I enjoyed it for a while. The woman kept ransacking my possessions, and at some point, something inside my wardrobe caught her attention. It was a pair of checked pants—a purchase I made in a moment of madness and never wore—and a funny yellow shirt, which I wore even less. She put both of them on next to her skin. After that, my weird visitor looked approvingly at herself in the mirror and returned to the kitchen with my huge and grumpy Colt .45 in her small hands.

I glanced at the weapon and felt sick for the zillionth time that day.

“Not a bad piece!” the stranger remarked, stepping closer.

“It’s not bad when in my hands!” I answered, sweating again.

“That’s what I mean.”

“Then it’s not bad, indeed! And now, would you be so kind to point the thing in another direction?”

“No worries!” The chick winked at me and pointed it to the ceiling. Then she bent over to take the sanitary pad from the floor, tipping the Colt to my face again. She used the diaper to clean my mouth—it smelled of raspberries—and when she was ready, she threw it back down and carelessly pressed the gun barrel against the cuffs’ chain. When I saw what she wanted to do, I jumped up and bellowed like a wounded bull. Naturally, it cost my poor head another close encounter with the radiator ribs.

“What’s the matter with you?” The blonde asked me, irritated when I sat on my butt and groaned. “You’re willing to stay here and measure the capacity of this pipe all day long?”

“I won’t let you cripple me with my own howitzer!” I squealed feebly.

“What’s a howitzer?” she asked me while looking into the barrel with curiosity.

“Never mind! My point is that I’m perfectly fine here,” I hiccupped, not very convincingly, and spit a small piece of undigested food on the floor.

The woman’s eyes followed it, and then she suddenly grinned, fixing her gaze between my legs. Reluctantly, I had to look there because I wanted to see what she was so excited about and because I doubted it was my dick. In fact, she wasn’t staring at me at all but right in the middle of the disgusting pool of puke in front of me, which had the potential to turn even a starving pig away. The swill wasn’t enough to scare my new female friend, however. She fearlessly reached out her hand to grab something from there and held it in the air while it was still dripping.

“Look at this cute little buddy here!” she smiled happily. “It seems like you were just granted your fucking pardon!”

And then she put the thing into the lock of one of the rings. It was a tiny key with which she released the cuffs from the pipe, but before I even had a chance to celebrate my freedom, she snapped the loose end around her wrist. After that, she pulled me sharply and made me stand up, dragging me across the kitchen. She completely forgot to free my wrist from the cuffs!

When I realized what had just happened, I felt sick again. Either I had buried the key in my puke while throwing up so many times, or I had swallowed it first and then puked it back out. Whatever it was, I had been only an arm’s length from my freedom the entire time, but now I was back to square one! My kidnapper didn’t let me have my regrets about it for too long, though. She kept dragging me across the corridor, and instead of dropping by the bathroom and letting me take a piss, which I desperately needed, she just pulled me out of the apartment.

“Come on! You need some fresh air,” she patted me on the back as we walked. Since I had no strength left to resist, I just obeyed her, and after a few minutes of nightmarish spiraling down the staircase, during which time I completely lost any idea about left and right, our journey was finally over. Unfortunately, when we rolled out of the building, I promptly realized that the worst part of my day was still ahead of me. Outside, it was so hot that when the fierce sun beat on my crown like a hammer beating upon an anvil, I thought I would instantly die.

I looked around myself, dizzy and disoriented. I felt exhausted as if I had dug trenches all day long. The air was thick and hot as potato soup, and it tasted like acid rain in Mexico City during rush hour. Not far from us, I saw a couple of old-timers wriggling on the pavement where they had collapsed, and a guy who kicked them violently in an attempt to squeeze his mobile cart past them. The cart itself was full of boiling ice cream! At the same time, a black Mercedes cut in front of an old ambulance car, which turned sharply to the left and ran into the flower shop across the street, from where tons of roses flew out, blanketing the street with petals and leaves. The Mercedes itself screeched to a halt too, but instead of heading to the ambulance, the men who poured outside ran straight to the nearby currency exchange, holding guns in their hands. It all happened in a world where the sky was orange, the sun was blue, and three colorful jet planes nearly crashed while trying to fly between the little black clouds and write in fumes, “This simply cannot be real!”

Staggering heavily, I shook my head in an attempt to get it together. Since I had been cuffed to the radiator for god knows how long, I had probably overheated and lost touch with reality, and I was hallucinating now. However, my kidnapper, who seemed totally unimpressed by all these strange events, gave me no time to recover. She pulled at my wrist so sharply that my wobbly knees folded like boiled spaghetti and nearly sent my poor ass down on the pavement. To keep my balance, I did a weird little dance, and after the world around me stood steady again, we started walking. Well, in fact, it wasn’t exactly walking—not for me, at least—but rather something between walking and crawling. I trailed behind my prison guard, reeling to the left and right and banging into trees, street lamp poles, and traffic signs. I felt so sick that I didn’t even bother to ask her where we were going.

At some point, I noticed my Colt, which the woman carried stuck on her back, slipping into her pants and exploring the cleavage of her pantyless butt. It made me wonder what it was like to carry your piece between your legs, but then I thought it shouldn’t be much different from carrying your “thing” between your legs. Anyway, I really hoped the gun would roll into one of the trouser legs and then make an escape through the bottom end, and I could grab it, but unfortunately, it didn’t happen. The weapon lingered in the crotch area for too long—it actually wasn’t surprising since the chick had no underwear—and the delay gave my kidnapper enough time to reach her hand into the zipper and pull it out. Annoyed, she dropped the Colt into one of her pockets and we resumed our walk.

I puffed wearily, dragging my feet behind her and bumping into things. I knew it all would end eventually, and at some point, it did. After wandering aimlessly through the empty streets for almost half an hour, the woman suddenly stopped at a corner, which took me by surprise. Following my momentum, I banged my nose into the back of her head, and she turned around to look at me, irked.

“You know what?” she said. “This was the most ridiculous and exhausting walk I’ve ever had in my entire life! You’re a really, really weird guy, you know.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be weird,” I mumbled inarticulately. As a matter of fact, I lied. I wasn’t sorry for anything, and I couldn’t even feel anything more than what a team of sled dogs would feel if they were abandoned for a month a mile away from the North Pole. I was completely dead inside!

The woman just shrugged uncaringly and reached into the left pocket of her pants to retrieve the key to the handcuffs. Then she turned her blue eyes back to me.

©2022 S.T. Fargo
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!
(www.stfargo.com)