This story can only be found bundled with the Erotic Novella “Audition Inside”
Christmas Eve, and here is Annie, my sweet angel of the night. A small, thin and beautiful Asian girl, she is dancing topless in animal splendor to incessant, pounding music. Dim stage lights cast a glow over her, and my eyes feast upon this delicious woman. She’s changed, I think: though her eyes are still dark slits, her hair has a reddish brown tint and is tied in pig tails; and while the rose tattoo (which I bought her) remains below the belly button and small golden rings pierce her nipples, she has put on needed weight and enlarged her breasts.
But I’ve changed, too, and I’m sure she senses that. As she dances, eyes darting at me, her nipples are erect. I can smell her sweetness. Her back against the pole, she slides down to the stage, spreads her legs, and massages herself through her light blue, semi-transparent panties. She never takes her eyes off me.
“That’s my Annie,” I say.
In the smoked-filled club, I grin, stick my tongue out, and wiggle it obscenely, hardly an appropriate gesture for a professor known for scholarship on Nabokov and Pynchon. She laughs, pulls away from the pole and, on hands and knees, crawls over to me.
“How ya doin’, Jerry?” she purrs, leaning forward and licking my forehead. Wrapping her arm around me, her hand cradling the back of my head, she puts her face inches from mine.
“Merry Christmas,” she says in a seductive whisper. “Long time, no see.”
“Same here,” I respond. I can’t imagine another place I’d rather be than with Annie. It’s like standing at the gates of paradise. She smells like a rose garden, and I want to stick my tongue between her legs and taste her juices. Through sweat and smoke, she leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips.
“Missed you,” she says, slowly pulling back. “You still taste good?”
“We’ll find out if you want,” I say.
Aroused, I hesitate: though I’ve finally found her after months of searching, I’m now not really sure that I want to start up again with this woman. Annie can be a mixed blessing. An unusually sensitive person who will allow me to fuck her any time and any place, she has the ability to pull me from the black hole in my soul. But there’s another side. Once, several years ago on Christmas Eve, when we were playing in the front room just after dinner and just before church, she grabbed my dangling manhood in her teeth. (Please understand, of course, that we had been drinking.) When I didn’t respond the way she hoped, she bit, at first gently, then harder and harder. I tried to push her away when, with an angry snarl, she gave a hard yank, a dog tearing a piece of meat. Pain shot through me like a hundred lightning bolts. Immediately seeing that she had wounded me, Annie panicked, wept apologetically, grabbed my manhood and tried to stop the wound with her tiny hands. “Get a towel from the kitchen!” I shouted, visions of John Wayne Bobbit bouncing in my brain. As she ran to the kitchen, I looked between my legs and saw blood dripping down my legs and onto the carpet. “Hurry, you little cunt!” I screamed. Instead of calling a physician, Annie drove me, bundled in a light green dishtowel, to the ER where some young smart ass right out of medical school stitched me up.
This is what I remember as I now watch this gorgeous little beast dance. Once again, it is Christmas Eve, and in my bones I ache for Annie.
“Hey, Merry Christmas, you little dickbiting bitch,” I tease her, placing my hand on the back of her head and pulling her lips onto mine. As I kiss her, I run my free hand over her nipples, and she reaches down, places a hand between my legs, and grabs my hardness through my pants. When Annie finally draws her hand away, I tell her that I’ll be sitting at one of the tables under the big stage across the room.
“Come and join me when you’re done,” I say. She nods and smiles. For old times’ sake, I want once again to spend the night with her and enter her savage garden of delights.