Tell Tale Heart: The Second Perspective-Short Story
T’was a fortnight before the event, upon the streets I prowled, hunting. The young geese, flustered in their flocks, were causing a commotion down each and every alley they stirred. For it t’was a Friday night and no barrel of ye’ old pink Moscato be left unturned.
To the young buck these spring flowers would be fair game but for an old pompadour as I, they were stifling. For alas, I had been away too long and the game has changed. But shaken as I was, I still had a plan.
Over the years I had come to learn it was best to get straight to the point. If one could state his intentions early they could quickly pinpoint maidens who have a similar outlook. The only trick was figuring out how to convey this message promptly so that the intention was clear, while also being subtle enough in order to not scare off these playful kittens.
So with that in mind, I scanned the horizon trying to solo out the weakest gazelle within the heard. An ideal candidate would have sizable breast, a voluptuous bottom, and be incredibly intoxicated. That would be the ideal candidate, but as we know it’s not a perfect world. So I settled for a fair maiden who was heavily intoxicated and had minimal mustache hair then proceeded to make my move.
As I approached her I grew more and more nervous. Though my strategy was airtight I didn’t know if I had the gumption to fully commit. The pressure was too high, my adrenaline was pumping too hard! This was maddening, maddening I say! Forget the plan, the message was clear, the time was now!
It was already too late. Latching on, I grabbed her frontal saddlebags and squeezed with all my might. Feeling the warmth betwixt my fingers I lean back and yell amongst the stars, “HAIL TO THE FEVERGING BISHOP IN ALL HIS GLORY, FOR SANCTION, HAS COME! ”
The bustling street came to a sudden halt and rolling silence ensued as the street focused its attention on the situation at hand. Or hands I might say.
The plan had worked. Within that exact moment, I knew exactly what this elegant mistress desired. A desire for me. A desire for me to let go of her chest. Reeling back, the beautiful beast hocked a loogie with the force of a thousand moons then proceeded to launch a saliva (and pink Moscato) filled assault upon my face. Landing directly into my right eye.
The rest of the night was a blur. I was detained, obviously. But as luck has it, I was able to plead mentally unstable due to my seniority and thus was forced only to pay a small fine. I didn’t mind, it was a small fee for a magical night that had gone rogue.
Unfortunately, from that night on I was bedridden. For it turned out that whore had some disease which seemed to worsen with every passing day. A week had gone by and my eye became red and wrinkled, flaked with dry skin. Every morning I woke, my spectacle aching as if a ray of light had been focused on it for nights on end. My servant, Edgar, couldn’t even look at me anymore.
Late one night, in the midst of my sorrows, I thought about that magical night once more. Tossing and turning I failed at getting that tall glass of trouble out of my mind. I wasn’t pondering about my eye, but rather it was pondering her bosom. While I distinctly remembered the maiden’s eyes screaming, “no” her bosom… her bosom whispered, “…yes”.
The thought of her soft warm skin bulging between the gaps of my fingers caused a stir. A rather odd stir. A distant stir. A stir I had not felt in years.
Lifting up the blankets I notice a protrusion. My very own. Glorious, absolutely glorious. I bid you, it was truly a sight to see. It was nice to see there was still a young boy within the shell of this old man. The time was now, I had to capitalize.
Going through the motions I knew oh too well (as if riding a bike), I started stroking. And as the night matured my adrenaline grew. Each stroke harder and quicker than the one previously. I could hear the frame of my bed bang against the wall creating an erotic symphony.
*Pump* *Bump*
*Pump* *Bump*
*Pump* *Bump*
As the moment of ecstasy drew closer I suddenly heard a stir at the door. A real stir this time.
I pulled the blankets over me and sat up in a flash. I waited, quieter than a mouse, astute as a bird of prey. I say aloud, “is someone there?”. Still waiting, no response. Must have been the wind I told myself, not truly convinced. But none the less I had to finish what I had begun. Quitely the symphony started up once again.
*Pump* *Bump*
*Pump* *Bump*
*Pump* *Bump*
“Oh the maiden”
*Pump* *Bump*
*Pump* *Bump*
*Pump* *Bump*
“breast so firm”
*Pump!* *Bump!*
*Pump!* *Bump!*
*Pump!* *Bump!*
“GLORY!”
*Pump!* *Bump!*
*Pump!* *Bump!*
*Pump!* *Bump!*
A moan unlike any other erupted out of me… or more like a prolonged squeal. It had been many years since the last time I rode this sensational train and the tracks were a bit rusty. I was so close…when suddenly.
