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The Dead Pinky 3 The Dead Pinky 3
by Theo Versten
2006-09-09 12:49:39
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Freshman Year, 2001: Part Three

This girl deeply intrigued me. And her tight cleavage shined directly at me. Her eye shadow was blue. “I like men though,” she said, and as she said it she hit my left peck with the open palm of her hand. “Ooh,” she said, as she put her hand back on my left peck. “Oh you like my breasts?” I smiled, “I get plastic surgery at the gym every day.” “They’re hard like rocks,” she smiled with her eyes.

Then a figure caught the corner of my eye. Hot, tanned legs, stemming from a short tight skirt, lead a burning sexy aura through the dark dingy basement air. It was Heather. Over Jackie’s head I stared at Heather and felt my heart beat like a maniac. I hadn’t seen or talked to her since June, before she had lost her pinky. I wanted to see her but I didn’t want to see her pinky.

My beer exuberance funnelled into confusion. Jackie was talking but I wasn’t hearing her. Then Heather looked up at me. Our eyes locked. She smiled a broad smile. I made myself smile. Jacky turned around to see what I was looking at. Then I felt her look at me, but my eyes continued fixated on Heather. Then Brent started blabbering again. I slipped out of the circle and my feet travelled towards Heather.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, “I knew you were gonna be here.” And with that she wrapped her arms around my back and squeezed me into her tight, firm breasts pressing through her tight pink shirt, and into my chest. She made a little caress on my lower back which sent shivers rippling up my spine. I looked into her eyes and wanted to dive into them, and also her, but wagging “no” between us was that invisible finger. I still hadn’t had a look but it was disturbing and I wanted to look but felt that I couldn’t.

“Look at that guy, you see him? That’s Brent, my friend from the dorm,” I pointed and she gazed through the crowd, and furtively, I looked down at her pinky and it was as I had imagined: a glaring deformity, a maniacally grinning oompah loompah. “The cute little guy with the hair?” she asked. “Yup, that’s him,” I was revolted.

We talked about nothing for five minutes and then I said that I was tired and I wanted to go home. She made an effort to look pouty and disappointed and seductive but I wasn’t interested. No matter how skilled, any hand that plays my flute will have at the minimum and maximum five fingers.

I told Brent I was leaving and he didn’t want to go because the girls were giving him attention so I told him to invite the girls. “Where, to the dorm?” “I don’t care,” I said, “invite ‘em to get pizza and bang all three in the little boys room. I wanna go.”

At the pizza place I couldn’t eat. I bought a beautiful slice of cheese, shimmering with grease, but I only took a bite. “You gonna eat that or use it as toilet paper?” Brent asked. “You can have it,” I said.

All the three girls were with us. The best one still gave me the occasional eye but she was getting tired and less interested in my sombre self. Brent and the medium one were still hitting it off, sitting at the table with their knees touching, and looking profoundly into one another’s glazed eyes as they masticated and swallowed, masticated and swallowed.

The best and the worst walked home together. Medium, named Sarah came to Brent and my dorm and she slipped in bed with him, the top bunk, as his roommate slept like an angel on the bottom.

I couldn’t sleep. I was never going to get a hand job like that again. With my roommate on the top bunk, I acted stealthily, auto-launching the torpedoes, and moments after they struck, netted and sticky in a wad of Kleenex, I fell asleep, restlessly, and unconsciously brooding about Heather the beautiful, Heather the nine fingered reigning prom Queen of East Onka High School.

Part four...  

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