"Wharton, Greg - Finger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wharton Greg)Finger
by Greg Wharton I awake abruptly, jumping as if from a bad dream. My hand grabs at the side of the bathtub. I am lying inside, naked but for my boxers that are twisted uncomfortably up around my balls. I fight the urge to throw up, and wonder whose bathtub I'm in, and why I'm missing my clothes. My head throbs uncomfortably as I try to lift myself up to a sitting position. Once sitting, I contemplate lying back down as the pain in my head rises a few notches. I remember having drinks at Harry's bar, yes drinks, and there was a broad. I bought her a drink and told her she looked like Lana Turner. She was... oh, the urge to vomit comes again, and I lean over the edge of the tub and gag. Nothing, just a little bile. "You look like Lana Turner." "Oh, you sweet talker. You're smooth, aren't you? Buy me a drink, honey. My name's Edie, but I like Lana. Call me Lana." "Well Edie, ah, Lana... " "You know, honey, things aren't always as they seem." I lay my head against the cool metal and close my eyes. We had gone back to her apartment for a nightcap. This must be her apartment, but where's she? She was beautiful... I think. I have a foggy memory of her sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling down her stockings... yes, beautiful. That's the last thing I can remember. "Damn, Lana, You're beautiful." She puts an old record on the turntable, then sits on the edge of the bed seducing me with her eyes as she slowly peels the stockings down her long smooth legs. With a curling finger she signals for me to join her. I sit my drink on the bedside table and walk to her, my cock throbbing in response to her invitation against the inside of my now too tight pants. "You know, baby, I think I owe you some payback for all the sweet talk and the drinks." She licks her ruby red lips with her tongue as she expertly unbuckles my belt, unzips me, and frees my anxious member. I moan in disbelief at my luck as Lana wraps her mouth around my hardness and Johnny Cash sings how it burns, burns, burns, that ring of fire, that ring of fire... Okay, no time like the present, I think. I stand up and step out of the bathtub I made a bed. My legs are wobbly and feel as if they are having a hard time supporting my weight. I step over my puddle of bile and lean against the sink. My reflection scares me. I have bruises all over my cheeks and my right eye is swollen shut. Shit! I've got to remember what happened after I nailed the broad. I shuffle to the toilet, lift the seat, and urinate strongly for what seems like an unusually long time. My balls feel heavy and ache. I look around the little bathroom, flick the last couple drips of urine off, flush, and close the toilet seat. One after another I open the drawers below the sink in search of aspirin. Finding none, I decide what I really need is more of what got me here. A good stiff drink, and if I can find my lady friend maybe a little more loving. An explanation would help. I grab some toilet paper and blow my nose hard, igniting the blinding noise still going on in my head. I toss it towards the trashcan, but miss. When I pick it up and toss it again at the target, I see it. A finger. A finger! There's a fucking finger wrapped in bloody toilet paper in the trashcan! Panicking, I back up and try to catch my breath before I scream. What happened last night? I sit down on the edge of the tub and start to cry. What fucking happened? I rest my head in my hands and stare at my ugly feet on the cold tile of the bathroom. I had drinks at Harry's. I make friends with a beautiful babe who I share more drinks with. She invites me back to her apartment for a nightcap, we hit it off, I bang her, maybe, and... then what? "Oh, careful Lana! You gotta slow down or you're gonna make me explode. Damn girl!" I pull myself from her mouth with a pop and back up. I stand in the middle of her bedroom with my cock bouncing up and down ready to shoot, my pants in a bunch at my ankles. She kneels at the edge of the bed, reaches back and unzips her dress. It falls from her shoulders and she catches it, teasing me, slowly uncovering her lovely breasts one at a time. I let out a growl, and decide to get ready for the fuck of my life! I trip over my own feet getting to the chair, and settle for the carpeted floor, where I fumble with my shoelaces. Lana stretches out those long legs and gingerly steps off the bed. She takes a deep breath and lets the dress fall. My eyes nearly pop from my head as it cascades in slow motion down to her feet and I stare in disbelief. Her large nipples harden as she steps out of her red lace panties, one smooth leg at a time, and her thick cock bounces free. I suddenly remember her boyfriend storming into the room, and he was pissed. He started yelling at her calling her a cunt, and she was balling like a baby. He kept shaking his finger at her, his ring finger. His ring finger! I run to the trash can and look in at the finger. Yes, the finger has a ring still intact. Holy Jesus, have I done it now! If I could just piece a little more together to know how the husband lost the finger. I stand, go to the sink and turn on the water. I splash my face, and swish my mouth out. I don't dry off, just run my hands through my hair, and stare at my sad tired face. I decide to be brave. "Surprise!" I am speechless. I have gotten in some trouble with drink in the past, but this definitely takes the cake. Oh, but she is lovely. I slowly stroke my cock as the truth sinks in. The front door bangs shut, and I don't even have time to react before the heavy stomping footsteps bring a very large, very angry man into the room. Shit, I still have my pants wrapped around my ankles! His face is beet red. He looks like he's going to explode! "You slut! You fucking cunt! Who is this faggot!" Faggot?! "You know Lana, I think..." "Lana?! Edie, you cunt!" He takes three quick steps past me and slaps Lana hard across her cheek knocking her down onto the bed. Blood spurts from her nose and open mouth and she looks at him like a cornered animal. He turns back to me and lunges. I try to get up but my pants trip me again, putting my face just where I assume he wants it, right in line with the steel toe of his boot. Lana is sobbing, half her body hanging off the bed, black mascara tears mixing with the blood, her shriveled cock laying limply against one leg. He storms out of the room after kicking me again, this time right in my balls. My senses all scream at the same time, and I curl into a fetal position. He returns with what look to be gardening shears, and I start screaming bloody murder. "Not you faggot! Shut up! Edie, I'm tired of this! I'm so fucking tired! Why do you do this to me? Why do you always do this to me? I love you so much..." The shot makes me jump up and back, and I have just enough time to see him fall to his knees before Lana takes aim and fires her gun at him again, his chest exploding, covering me in thick red viscera. And I pass out. If I get out of this mess, I promise to lay off the drink for awhile. God, please, let them both be alive! I open the door, and on very shaky legs, go in search of Lana and her fingerless boyfriend. The End Greg Wharton is the founder/editor of suspect thoughts: a journal of subversive writing. His short fiction, review, and creative nonfiction has been widely published online and in print. He is hard at work on a collection of his short fiction and a novel |
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