hannah_christine

As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Two: Crush on You

Tue, 30 Sep 2025 02:29:02 GMT

Christine awoke in the middle of the night with her face as warm as the fire itself, though it had gone out at that point, and she and Alex had found their way into the bedroom for their place for the night. He had rolled over onto his side and fallen asleep: through the shadows that made up the dark room around them, she could make out the slender shape of his shoulders underneath the blankets. He looked cold, even with the three blankets and the big heavy comforter that swaddled their bodies.

She inched closer to him, and she put a hand upon his hipbone. The way that his body curved out in such ever so slight fashion there brought a smile to her face. So thin and delicate.

Christine moved in closer to his body, to where her chest pressed against the curve of his back. When she laid her head against his shoulders, he shifted his weight right in the spot and yet he never woke up. She moved her hand to his waist, and he shivered in response.

She closed her eyes with the hope of falling asleep again, and yet she never could do that. She instead stroked the soft skin on his stomach with the tips of her fingers all while with her eyes closed. Alex finally stirred all the way and he rolled onto his back a bit for a look back at her.

“What’re you doing?” he asked her in a broken whisper.

“You’re so soft,” she said, and he shifted his weight a bit underneath her.

“It tickles like crazy,” he flatly told her. Christine moved her hand away from him and she rolled over onto her back. She sighed through her nose.

“Is everything okay?” he asked her.

“I can’t sleep,” she confessed to him as he sat upright.

“Aw. I should’ve known.”

She shook her head: through the darkness, she saw him sit up and cross his legs underneath the blankets. “It’s okay, you didn’t know. You’re just so soft—like a little teddy bear. I kind of want to do something, too. You know—a little something fun to help both you and I fall back asleep.”

“Well,” he started again, that time with a slight clearing in his throat. “—what time is it?”

Christine sat up on her side, and she took a glimpse back at the little digital clock on the nightstand, right by the lamp.

“It’s about one o’clock.”

“Jeez,” he remarked, and he cleared his throat again. “Uh, well, now that I’m awake—what would you like to do, Chris?”

She ran her fingers through her hair.

“What do you feel like doing?” she asked him: she glanced over at his dark silhouette there next to her, with the full tip of his nose and the soft point of his chin up against the dark gray ambient lighting courtesy of the snow outside. Through the darkness, he looked so soft and precious to her, as soft as he had ever looked before as well. There had to be something behind those big blue eyes and that calm, cool demeanor: she had witnessed it with her own eyes after all.

“I had the coolest dream just now,” he confessed to her. “I was at the front of the stage of an orchestra, and I was leading them.”

“What kind of an orchestra? Like, a holiday one? A philharmonic one?”

“Holiday,” he replied. “I remember there was a piano and a couple of guitar players next to me—I was playing one of those nylon-string guitars. Behind us stood a whole string section, a brass section, and a woodwind section—the whole nine yards. I remember thinking about it as you and I fell asleep, and it came about especially when I started to think about the sheer number of holidays that take place in December—aside from Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa.”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve got the Winter Solstice,” she followed along. “New Year’s, too.”

“Plus, Advent. There’s also a Buddhist holiday, a Hindu one—the Romans had Saturnalia right around the Solstice.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of ceremonies like that in Native American cultures,” she added.

“Oh, absolutely. The earth was precious—from the sun to the soil to the snow that fell outside of the window…” His voice trailed off. Christine kept her gaze fixed on him: not once did he turn his head to face her, as if something was troubling him.

“Alex, is there something you want to tell me?” she asked him, and he swallowed and shifted his weight in the bed. “You look like you want to tell me something.”

He shook his head. She squinted her eyes at him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to understand you just yet,” she told him with a little shake of her head and a wag of her finger.

“There are so many people who will in fact tell you just that,” he said, and he finally turned his head towards her: the shadows crossed his face and his bare shoulders and chest. “You know, they’ll be like—oh, Alex Skolnick, he’s hard to understand, he’s simple, he’s complicated, he’s straightforward, he’s full of contradictions, he’s a tough nut to crack. He’s obsessed, he’s not obsessed, he’s as hot as the sun, he’s as cold as the Arctic… he’s in love with the world but he wants to stay home.”

“He’s warm and sweet like apple pie,” she added, and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I dunno ‘bout that,” he confessed with a slight snicker. There was a brief pause, and then he reached behind him for something. He clicked on the lamp on his side: bright golden yellow light filled up the room, such that Christine squinted her eyes closed at the sudden sensation.

“Damn,” she blurted out.

“I thought that would help, though,” he confessed. She rubbed her eyes, and she turned her attention to him and those deep-set baby blues of his. The softest, coldest ocean with the deepest, safest spot at the very bottom: the plume of gray at the crown of his head made her think of the highest clouds in the sky over the ocean surface. His skin, as smooth as the cream on the crown of the nearest bank of fog, and his lips, as full and ripe as the apples in the orchard at the base of the hill. He set one hand on top of the blanket before him, and his fingers sprawled out before him like the legs of a spider.

“You have such beautiful hands,” she remarked.

“Guitar player hands,” he said with a shy little smile on his handsome face. “Guitar and piano player hands, I should say.”

“Did you bring your guitar with you?”

“I did! No guitar player should ever be separated from his instrument.”

“Or her.”

“Or her, right!”

Christine turned her attention to the closet on the other side of the room, right before them. She nibbled on her bottom lip, and she climbed out of bed: chills and a slight wave of cold ran up her legs as well as the small of her back.

“What’s in there?” he asked her as she reached the door. She flung it open where she spotted something dark and shiny that hung off the rung before her face. Tucked up against the wall, she noticed something bright and colorful and with an extra shine to it, as well.

Christine nudged the black thing closest to her face, and she recognized the shoulder straps and the low-cut neckline. She smiled to herself, especially as she took notice of the loops and the buckles on the left side.

“Hey, check this out,” she proclaimed as she took the teddy out of the closet. She could hear him swallow hard, as if he had just drunk a big helping of water right then.

“A leather teddy?” he sputtered out, and he raised his little dark eyebrows at the sight of the teddy.

“A leather teddy—like what you’d find in a pain room.” He pursed his lips and shifted his weight there in the bed.

“Want me to try it on?” she offered him, and he shifted his weight again.

“If you’d like,” he declared, to which he cleared his throat.

He bowed his head a bit, which in turn softened his face. He was naturally so stern and put-together but the very second that he lowered his gaze to the bed, he showed her his delicate little face. Those deep eyes never stared back at her for a second, but rather they wandered down around the blankets before they returned to her. He was not exaggerating when he said that he was full of contradictions.

Christine licked her lips and she set the teddy down over the foot of the bed for a second. She peeled off her nightgown, which in turn revealed her dark nipples to him. She tossed her hair back and she looked on at him, complete with her bare breasts out in the open. His chest rose and fell with heavy breathing, but he never said anything to her. She could only assume that he liked what he saw before him, and thus, she kept going.

She picked up the teddy, and she opened it up at the buckles. She slipped it around her thick body, to which the leather hugged her full curves, especially when she closed the teddy and strapped herself into it. The cups hugged her breasts and pressed them tight against each other. The cold air in the room made her nipples erect to a degree, but they never reached a full point.

“How is it?” he asked her with yet another clearing of his throat.

“A little snug,” she replied. “If I lost about ten or fifteen pounds, it might be perfect.”

And he shook his head at that.

“You don’t need to lose weight,” he assured her.

“You sure?”

“Positive. You really don’t need to lose weight. Like, none whatsoever.”

She closed the next buckle, the one right where her hourglass figure pivoted inside. The leather pressed against her belly, and his eyes wandered down to her waist and her hips.

“I have to confess something to you,” he began to her in a soft voice.

“Go right ahead,” she encouraged him.

“I don’t know if this is the right time, though,” he said. “Especially since—you know, we’re about to have a little fun and whatnot.”

“True, true. But surely, it can’t be that bad.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip again.

“I like some leather, big guy,” she told him as she zipped up the little teddy at the back. The top part hugged her breasts to where they looked fuller than normal, such that he shifted his weight at the mere sight of them. She peeled off her panties to where she was close to being naked right there before him. He straightened up his spine a bit, and he set his hands on either side of him. As he was bracing himself for something.

Christine lunged for him, and she brought her face close to his.

“Oh, deary me,” he muttered, and she leaned in closer for a little caress of his chin.

“Yes,” she whispered to him. “I’m the darkest moon that you could ever dream of. I move like a cat. I caress your body down and I tenderly love on you—every inch possible.”

He pursed his lips, and he bowed his head once again.

“Let me feel you,” she begged him.

“As long as I get to feel you,” he retorted back to her: the way in which he said it made her wonder if he had his mouth full of something. Christine closed her eyes, and she breathed in deep to where the teddy fit her like the most perfect glove. She breathed him in for as long as she counted to five inside of her mind, and then she backed away from him and towards the closet for something else. Since she had taken off her panties, she bore her bare ass to him every step of the way.

She reached for one of the bright and colorful things in the back of the closet: when she took it out of hiding, she saw right away that it was a bright yellow latex bodysuit, and one that looked to be designed for a man’s body as well.

“Put that on, big boy,” she told him, and she tossed it over to him. He picked it up by the shoulders, and he raised his eyebrows at the sight and the feel of it.

“You want me to put this on?” he demanded. “With my stomach still full of dinner earlier?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she insisted.

He parted his lips and let out a low whistle. He then climbed out of bed and stood before her, completely shirtless: he dropped his pajama bottoms, followed by his underwear, and he stood there completely naked before her. Carefully, he picked up the bodysuit and he slipped his feet in through the open back part. He tugged the suit over his legs and his hips.

The latex squeaked and creaked with the shape of his body: he grimaced at the feel of the latex over his dick and his whole crotch area. But she watched him until he brought the latex up to his waist.

“Need some help?” she offered him, and he shook his head.

“Nah, I’ve got it,” he assured her. “Thank you, though.” He glanced down at his waist, slender except for a slight pocket of softness around his belly button. She smiled when she remembered that she had her hands on that softness not long before then. He brought the latex up to his shoulders and his arms, followed by his neck and his chin. He then showed her a little smile.

“Little help?” he grunted out.

“Zip up in the back?” she asked him, and he nodded his head. Christine stood behind him with one hand on the little silver zipper pull and her other hand on the small of his back: he shifted his weight ever so slight, but he never moved a muscle as she brought the zipper up the curvature of his spine until she reached the base of his neck. The collar tightened up around his neck.

He flipped his black hair behind his head, and he adjusted the collar of the suit underneath his chin. With a low whistle, he turned around and he faced her straight on. He kept his hands down by his hips so not a single inch of his body was hidden from her view. The only thing between her and him was a leather teddy and a piece of latex that hugged every inch of his slender, delicate little body. His fingers glided over the latex as it stretched over his soft-looking belly, and he bowed his head to her, so a few little locks of his black hair sprawled down over his shoulder and his collar bones.

“Such a delicate little boy,” she noted.

“I just wanna feel the experience,” he whispered to her. “I want to feel more than what we were feeling on the couch.”

“The experience of being close,” she breathed back to him as she strapped him in. He let out a low whistle. She could sense it: he was nervous. But he was willing, however.

Christine ran her hands down the sides of his arms, all the way down to his hands. Her fingers linked around his own as well as the sides of his hands.

“Your hands are cold,” she told him. “Cold hands mean a warm heart.”

He lowered his gaze once again, that time down towards her feet and ankles.

“The one who dons the latex is the one in charge,” she told him, and he raised his gaze once more.

“Oh, really?”

She showed him a smirk and she leaned in closer to him.

“I’m not wearing panties,” she whispered to him.

“I know you aren’t,” he whispered back.

“I want you to take me over the knee and spank me,” she commanded him, to which he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Spank you. With—my hand?”

“Your hand or something long and flat like a book.”

He swallowed, and she rubbed his shoulders, such that the latex squeaked and tugged underneath her hands.

“Here,” she stated. “Do you want to spank me?”

“I don’t really know how to answer this—”

“Would you like to touch me?”

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Yes.”

“Would you like to touch my ass?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to raise your hand and spank me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

“It’s okay. It’s—kind of the point.”

He swallowed again and he held still. Christine turned around and she showed him her bare ass. She stooped forward so she bore the full curve of smooth flesh to him.

“Go ahead and touch!” she encouraged him. “It’s not like I have cooties.”

Alex sighed through his nose once more and he brought his hands to her ass as if he was cradling a pair of melons. Her skin was warm and smooth; she could feel he was nervous.

“Gimme a squeeze,” she encouraged him, and he pulsed his fingers into her flesh. “You can go harder than that, y’know.”

She felt his fingers squeeze a bit harder against her flesh, and she curled her toes at the sensation.

“I should probably tell you that my ass is quite sensitive,” she told him.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, if you tickle me there, it—” He tickled her ass with the tips of his fingers, and she wiggled at him in response, which in turn brought a snicker out of him. “Just like that!”

He tickled her again and she bent further down so her hands dangled down to her feet: the leather crinkled underneath the bend of her body.

“I would think there’s a part of your body that’s sensitive and tender, too,” she noted.

“Yeah, uh… my nuts, believe it or not.” His fingers then slithered along the shape of her cheeks, all the way down to the tops of her thighs, which in turn caught her off guard.

“Oh—?” she gasped. “Where’d that come from?”

“Not too sure,” he confessed: he brought his fingers right to the middle of her ass and down to that sensitive spot between there and her lips.

“You know when you take a shower with a handheld head and you bring it to this whole area here and it feels like bliss?” she asked him. “This is almost like that.”

“Like water—”

She gasped when he caressed the lips there. They were only two steps away from doing it doggy style while standing up, and yet he was reluctant about the gentlest of touches.

“Love like water,” she blurted out.

“Love like ice,” he retorted. How she wished to look into his face while he caressed her down. If there was anything that she loved about the feeling of his hands there, it was the fact that he touched her so gently. She cracked a smile at that realization, that he was more than willing to go at a slow, sensual pace. A slow, sensual, delicate boy.

“Almost,” he echoed her.

“I bring the shower head right in between there for a little cleaning,” she clarified.

“You want me to feel you right in your asshole, don’t you,” he sputtered out.

“I wish I had a plug with us specifically for my ass—it’d add a little more to this.” She peered over her shoulder at him. “You are the one with the latex, after all.”

“I want to feel the pain through the latex,” he confessed.

“A little torture, perhaps?” she suggested with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

“Torture?”

“To the sensitive spot. I’ll gentle, though.” She stood up and turned around to face him. She pressed her hands onto her ass, and she swayed her hips a bit at him. Alex held still with his hands down by his hips so she had a full view of his body.

Without warning, she gripped onto his crotch with both hands. The latex hugged the curvature and the tip of his dick, which in turn brought a gasp out of him.

“A little squeeze—” she said.

“Like a lemon.”

He locked eyes with her so he wouldn’t see what was happening down below his belt. Christine showed him her tongue and she ran her fingertips and the pad of her thumb along the shaft. She could feel him firming up through that thin layer of latex.

Her fingers. His skin. His second skin, like that of a serpent. His body, so slim and elegant, like that of a king cobra.

“We need like toys or something,” he stammered.

“A plug for me and a harness for you,” she replied with a wink and a slight tug to his dick.

“Yeah, of course—oof, Jesus—”

He firmed up inside of there as she tugged on him some more. She was gentle on him but it was obvious that she was stretching his dick through the latex. Alex pinched his eyes shut and let his mouth hang agape at the feeling.

“Is this too much for you?” she kindly asked him.

“Oh, no. It’s just—I’m not used to it.” He let out a hearty little chuckle.

Christine then dug her fingers into the latex and she pushed his shaft back towards his body. She could feel that he was a lot fuller in there from the sensation, and it would be some time before he was fully erect. But she had broken the ice with him a bit.

“You’re so cute,” she told him with a slight brush of the aquiline tip of his nose. He let out a low whistle and tugged at the collar around his neck.

“Is there something leather for me in there?” he asked her, slightly out of breath.

“Indeed, there is,” she replied, and she unhooked the leather teddy, one latch after the other. She let it fall off her body and around her ankles. She stepped out of the leather, and she rounded his body for a hold on the zipper again. Carefully, she tugged the zipper down the curve of his back, all the way to the space over his hips. He let the latex fall off his body, as if he had shed his second skin. Completely naked, he turned his head for a glimpse over his shoulder to her. He gazed down to the floor and he pouted his lips a bit.

Christine slunk over to the closet for the next piece of leather, one that she hoped would be all for him. She unveiled a long jacket of thin black leather as well as a pair of pants: Alex, who had brought his hands down to his bare crotch, tilted his head to the side at the sight of the leather ensemble.

She turned her head into the closet again, and she spotted more colorful latex in there. She handed him the leather and then she took the bright red latex bodysuit out of hiding.

She turned to him as he put the jacket on over his body.

“I want to see you as powerful as me,” she encouraged him as she slipped the latex over her breasts: it was a bit tricky with her erected nipples, but she managed to put her arms into the sleeves.

Alex buttoned up the leather pants, and they hugged his hips as well as the tops of his thighs. His belly button poked out ever so slight over the waistband. Meanwhile, the long black coat hugged the sides of his body, even though he hadn’t closed the belt.

“I ought to call you ‘maestro’,” she remarked.

“’Maestro’?” he echoed her.

“Yeah. Like you could put your hands up and direct the biggest orchestra this side of Siberia.” She snickered at that.

“The only thing that would make that possible is if it was snowing outside, my dear,” he assured her. He nibbled on his bottom lip, and he tucked a little lock of hair behind his ear: it was the first time that she had ever gotten to see his ears as well, and they reminded her of little elf’s ears. A sexy little elf who had found his way down from the rim of the North Pole. He looked ready to tell her something, that little secret that he had promised her before.

But then something caught her eye, something from right behind him no less.

“It is! It’s snowing again, Alex!” She clapped her hands, and he ran his fingers through his dark hair once again as if he was preparing himself for the best thing yet.

Christine extended a hand to him, and she took him by the hand, and she led him out of the room and over to the front door.

“I feel it,” he declared. “I feel the music within me.”

Christine took a glimpse down to his crotch and she could see him rising through the leather. He stepped ahead of her, and he opened the door first.

The biggest orchestra that either of them could ever dream of before, the biggest there on the eve of Christmas and the tale of a thousand seas. The snow drifts and the low-hanging clouds overhead seemed to take the shape of a thousand musicians, all of which ranged from the strings section to the horns and the singers in the front. Christine stood there in the doorway with her hands on the frame and the cold of the winds and the lake-effect snow against her body.

Alex shot his arms into the air as if he was in fact guiding them all in unison. He whirled around and faced her straight on, complete with a big smirk on his face. His chest out in the open, the leather hugged the contours and curves of his body, and she realized that the music was guiding him in utmost euphoria.

He closed his eyes and let them guide him through the snow drifts.

Christine leaned out of the doorway and she let her chest hang down so her breasts seemed fuller than usual. She let him give her such soft touches, but this was something else. This was akin to his mind and the feelings within his flesh: the second skin of leather had coaxed out the powerful feeling within him, she could sense it.

The feel of the music against her body, as if it was enveloping her and sending her: the latex acted as the single protective layer against the power of the music and the roar of the winds.

Where she gave him the power in his body, he gave her power in her mind.

She drifted over the fresh fallen snow all to meet up with him once again: she put her arms around his waist, and he put his arm around her shoulders. The leather protected them both from the snow as it pattered down around them.

“Let’s get out of the wind!” he exclaimed.

Christine rested a hand on his bare waist, and she led him back to the safety of their cabin. Alex closed the door behind him and the rush of the cold winds subsided with haste.

“Phew.” She clasped a hand to her chest, and ran her other hand through her dark hair; and she flashed him a smile.

“That was an adventure,” he remarked.

“An adventure of desire and desire of adventure,” she added.

“Exactly! Now, uh—could you help me out of this, please? It’s kind of—sort of—stuck onto my body.”

Christine burst out laughing.

“Only if you help me out of this little bit of latex here,” she persisted. “By the way, what were you going to tell me?”

“I forgot what it was now,” he admitted, and he shrugged his shoulders. “It might’ve had to do something with the orchestra out there, but I can’t really say, though, to be frank.” He then rubbed his hands together. “Okay! Now onto getting us out of all of this—”

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As the Seasons Grey | Chapter One: Applebite

Tue, 30 Sep 2025 02:26:50 GMT

“Alex? Alex, where are you?”

Christine lifted the branch closest to her head and she peered all around her to the clearing in the heart of the apple orchard. Apples as big and red as she could imagine resided close to her, and she yearned for a bite at the mere sight of them.

She stepped out from the bushes of memory, and she peered up to the tree canopy over her head. She had no memory as to how she had arrived there, only that she had watched Alex perform on the stage and then she blacked out.

The air smelled fresh and damp, as if the rain before then had come and gone and nourished the soil in its wake. The ground was soft and plush underneath the soles of her shoes. She shivered as she peered up at the scores of apples right over her head, a series of bright full red orbs over her as if someone had launched off a bunch of paper lanterns for the morning after the rainfall.

“Alex?” she called out again.

“Here, here—”

She stared straight ahead to find him there at the other side of the clearing before her. His black curls sprawled all around his bare shoulders and his upper arms as if they had sprouted forth in the manner of vines. His lips were like little cherries, the gentlest ripest fruit right from the branch of the nearest tree not too far from the edge of her backyard. His eyes looked on back at her from their rich, voluminous depths, as soft and blue as the sky following the rainfall before her.

He was a walking aphrodisiac in his own rite, and more so when he showed that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, either. He wasn’t the kind of boy who was ripped with full-on abs and large muscles, but he did have a nicely toned chest and a gentle-looking stomach that looked as though it could serve as a pillow for her at some point during their stay there in the orchard. Indeed, as Christine took another glimpse around her, she realized that she had no idea as to how they had reached there.

The last memory that she had in mind was the one of him performing for her on the stage in Los Angeles: as far as she knew, they had teleported to Northern California. And Alex had regressed about twenty years in age as well. She had barely any memory of him being this young before, especially when Testament initially started out back in the middle of the Eighties.

He lowered his eyelids at her and the smile on his face, to which he looked almost cherubic in nature.

“Let me ask,” she began.

“Go ahead.”

“How old are you?” she asked him.

“I’m eighteen,” he told her; his voice crept over her like the same tendrils that crept over his shoulders.

Alex tucked his fingers down the inside the band of his jeans, and he hoisted them up his hips, and he strode on across the clearing and over to her.

Even knowing how decadent and ripe he was in comparison to the other fruits on the vine, she still had to earn it. To earn the taste of those cherry lips against her own. To taste the sugar that made up his skin. To kiss those plump little apples which he bore for cheekbones, perfect for the softest little kisses she could ever give unto him. To feel the gorgeous pear shape of his body, from the small of his back down onto his hips and thighs.

He seemed so real and like such a dream all at the same time.

“I’m here, my dear,” Alex declared to her once he came on closer to her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He reached for the nearest fruit on the branch closest to their heads, and he picked it off the stem.

“Apple?”

“Please,” she replied, and she held the fruit in between her fingertips. As Christine held the apple with two hands, she locked eyes with him. Her dark ones with his deep blue ones, so crystalline and bright even when shrouded in shadow. Alex showed her a sweet little smile and he tucked his lanky arms behind his back to show her more of the skin on his chest: a bit of sunlight shone through the trees and onto his upper body. A few stray curled tendrils of fuzzy black hair dangled over his shoulder like the head of a snake.

He was so lush and sensual, especially once he cocked out his hip a bit towards her.

“I want to watch you,” he told her, to which his already soft voice lowered to an even lower tone: husky and tender like the very fruit that she cradled in between her fingers.

She eyed his full little cheekbones, round and tender like little apples in their own rite. His eyes then dropped down to her body for a split second, and then she took a glimpse down as well. She had no clothes on as well: for a moment, she swore that she was inside of the dream of a teenage boy, but then she realized that she was in control of the dream. This was the dream for her. The dream was real.

“Have a bite, my dear,” Alex coaxed her in a near whisper.

Christine took a bite of the apple and the juices nearly dribbled down her chin. She caught it before the rest of it fell upon the deep part of her chest. So sweet, so decadent, and so crisp.

“Oh, my god, Alex,” she said with her mouth full.

“It’s a good apple, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hm.” She brought a hand up to her lips as she prepared to swallow it down.

“Right as the rain stopped, I picked one off the trees back here,” he told her with a gesture back to the trees right behind him. He then ran his hand down his chest and onto his stomach. “Filled me up a bit, too.”

“It can’t tithe you over for very long, though,” she told him as she took another bite.

“Not at all,” he confessed as he strode around her: he swayed his hips a bit all the while. She locked eyes with him even as he sauntered behind her. Those deep eyes like the Mariana Trench, the bluest waters before they gave way to the darkness below. To swim in his ocean before she reached the fire down below. The dance of fire and water.

Christine took another bite from the apple, and she swore that the sunlight that filtered through the trees disappeared with the incoming blanket of clouds that came on the back of the rainfall. Alex stood before her with his hair sprawled over his shoulders as if he had just sauntered right out of the jungle rather than the trees of the apple orchard.

He had crawled out on a veil of darkness on the back of the most sinful apple known to mankind.

“My sin,” she whispered to him. “My soul.”

He showed her his tongue and he gestured for her to follow him along the soil to the far end of the orchard. Christine glanced down at the apple and then she showed him a little smile.

It was as if he had seduced her with her knowledge.

Christine followed Alex along the aerated soil, all the way to the very end of the row until they reached the lush hillside. It made her think of the hills right outside of Sacramento, right before they reached the Sierra Nevada Mountains: she gazed up to the crest of the hill, at the swirling clouds up above.

“Our cabin awaits us, dearest Christine,” he told her.

He held out a hand for her and, with her free hand, she took his and she followed him up the side to the very top. There was a part of her that wanted to lead him up the hill, but he was the one who knew the whereabouts of the place in shelter for them.

Still with her other hand grasped onto the apple, she took a glimpse down at the ground beneath them for a moment. The ground on the hill was still damp, and while he wore little white tennis shoes that looked to be untied, she was barefoot.

“It’s okay,” he assured her in a kind tone. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

She took another bite as she climbed up the hill by his side instead. Her toes sank into the soft earth below them: it reminded her of walking on the beach.

“There we go,” he said, and that little smile returned in all its tender beauty.

Christine dug into the flesh of the apple as they reached the edge of a trail there on the side of the hill, and they were still side by side, still with their hands together as they walked together. A cold gust of wind caught her by surprise and her nipples tightened at the sensation. Alex cracked a smile at that; she shivered but she showed him a smile as well.

“You can look but you can’t touch,” she teased him as she nibbled her way down to the apple core.

“My wish is to touch,” he declared over the winds around them.

“And my wish is to touch,” she retorted right back to him.

Within time, and with a few more gusts of wind at the fronts of their bodies, Alex brought her to the cabin perched on the crest of the hill before a low patch of evergreen forest: indeed, off in the distance stood a series of mountain peaks that rose high up into the low clouds above them.

“Yeah, let’s get into the cabin—” Alex’s voice drowned out with the uprising winds; he bowed his head and yet he never let go of her hand all the way. Christine finished the apple once the path before them straightened out and they trudged to the front door of the cabin; she hunched her shoulders in hopes to keep the cold off her skin, but all it did was shoot more chills up her spine and tighten up her nipples even more.

Alex opened the front door and he let her inside there first. It was a cute little cabin, with its cozy front room with the plush couch of crushed emerald green velvet and twin wrought iron floor lamps, as well as four strings of Christmas lights strung across the ceiling overhead and a little blue and gold menorah in the window. To the left was a small space with a rug, a kitchenette, and a brick fireplace nestled in the corner, and a small square window right over the bricks; on the far left was a small hallway to the bathroom and the one little bedroom. Next to the front door stood a little glass box with a label that read “cores go here”, and the first thing she did was place her apple core in there.

“It’s for fertilizer,” he explained as he closed the door behind them. “Once the snow passes, we can plant the seeds into the soil and then the remaining flesh will join them inside the earth.”

“That’s beautiful,” Christine remarked: she ran her hands all along her upper arms to keep the warmth in there.

“It’s nature.” He flashed her a wink and a slight glance down to the full shape of her hips and thighs.

“I’m shaped like a pear,” she told him.

“I am, too! And I think there are some clothes in here for us?” Alex kicked off his shoes, and then he peeled off his jeans and let them collect all around his ankles: she raised her eyebrows at his delicate naked body, to which that sweet smile made another return, complete with those soft little apple cheeks.

He ran a hand down his hipbone all to bring attention to the shape of his body, and then he turned to the trunk on the floor right next to him. Christine eyed the shape of his bare ass as he stooped down for the locks on the lid, but he was quick to put on long fitted black underwear pants, followed by a little button-up sweatshirt.

He then handed her a matching ensemble.

“Here, doll—”

Christine slipped on the long underwear and then the sweatshirt: she kept the top three buttons undone to ease the pressure on her chest, as well as to expose her pointed nipples to him once more, that time through the warm flannel which made up the shirt. He grinned at the sight of her.

“There’s my snow bunny,” he declared. He ran his fingers through his jet-black curls, which in turn exposed the silvery roots of that little plume of gray at the front of his head: it was about the size of a quarter, and it came about in the form of a faint sheen upon his bangs. “Now, watch this—”

He clapped his hands twice and the fireplace roared to life with a big bright fire.

“Wow,” Christine breathed out with a clasp of her hand to her chest.

“Yeah. The first time I saw this thing and I was told it ran by way of a clapper, I was skeptical at first. And then I tried it out and it actually happened! It warmed up the room, too.”

“And it’s warming up the room right now.” Christine lowered her shoulders and fixed the bottom hem of the sweatshirt, which was already riding up her full waist a bit.

“I expect you to do that a lot while we’re here,” he quipped with a wink. “We’re gonna eat so well here—I predict us having snug clothes and more-than-satisfied bellies by the time we’re done.”

“I’m actually okay with that,” she confessed to him with spirit.

He sank down on the couch and leaned back into the plush cushion behind him. She followed suit right next to him but she stayed in an upright position.

“So, tell me, dear Christine,” he began again. “What’s your story?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “What’s there to know?”

“I’m curious about you,” he confessed her. “What’s a pretty girl like yourself with a funky-looking Jew boy like myself?”

“I like you,” she promptly replied.

“Yes, of course! But why, though?” He hooded his eyes at her and puckered his lips a bit at her. The flickering light of the fire danced over his handsome oval face and those deep eyes. She thought about the encounter in the apple orchard, and if he was even aware of it, or if he had switched mindsets without her knowing at one point.

“I don’t really know, to be frank,” she admitted. “I think you’re really cute, for one thing.”

He squinted his eyes at her and with two fingers, he undid the collar of that little sweatshirt, which in turn revealed the skin on his collar bones and his chest.

“I’ve got to be more than cute, though,” he pointed out, to which he ran his hand along the top of his thigh. Christine watched him with her head bowed a bit. How she wished to see inside of his mind right then, to feel him from the inside and fully understand him.

“You’re luscious and sweet like that apple I was eating,” she told him. “You give me such a naughty, decadent feeling within me.”

“That reminds me…” He leaned over to the side of the couch for something: before Christine could ask him, he showed her a big king-sized chocolate bar, still wrapped in its silvery tin foil and without a single break in its wrapper, either.

“The forbidden fruit needs a little nuance to its level of sin,” he told her as he unfurled the foil at the top of the bar. The rich, dark chocolate greeted her, and his eyes gazed up at her as if he beckoned the most decadent of a lie itself from her. He took a whiff of the chocolate and then he broke off a piece from the top edge and handed it to her.

She took a slow bite, complete with her eyes closed.

So smooth. So rich. So strong. With a little spice in the back.

“Is there something spicy here?” she asked him.

“Just a hint of chili powder with ginger,” he replied. “A little extra sexy kick in there.”

“Oh, my, god… I could eat so much of this.”

“There’s more where this came from,” he vowed to her.

“You and I will eat all the chocolate,” she promised him with a twinkle in her eye, “especially since you can’t drink wine as of yet.”

“All the chocolate and coffee come the morning,” he added as he sloughed off a piece for himself.

The feeling of aphrodisiacs compounded with the sight of the aphrodisiac before her, and it all manifested as they shared that chocolate bar together, and to the point of Alex’s craning his neck for a glimpse out the window over the fireplace.

“Is it snowing?” she asked aloud.

“It is!” he proclaimed; indeed, she turned to look for herself, at the billowing cloud of drifting snow beyond the glass pane. Lucky for them, they were safe and warm in the cabin: Christine nestled closer to Alex’s body, closer to the sweet comfort of his body.

“Eat lots of chocolate and dinner,” he promised her as he put his arm around her. She slipped another bite of chocolate into her mouth and she glided her fingertips along his chest and down onto his stomach.

“What shall we have for dinner, by the way?” she asked him.

“Something warm,” he replied with another bite of chocolate. “Warm and—with tomatoes.”

“Shall I make it or should we do it together?” she asked him.

“Together.”

Once they finished their chocolate, Christine stood to her feet first, and she held out her hand for him. Alex followed her into that little kitchenette with the dark heavy wood and the little powder blue fridge tucked in one corner.

“I feel like we’re in the middle of the Fifties,” he noted.

“Why, ‘cause of the fridge?” she asked him.

“No, I mean, it feels like it’s in the fifties in here,” he stated with a rubbing of his upper arms, to which she giggled.

Indeed, there was something about the making of that big pot of pasta with the tomato sauce and meatballs that tickled her so: whenever he stirred the pot of sauce, he picked up a spoonful of it for her to taste, and he flashed her a deep-eyed stare all the while.

“We’re already full of chocolate and spices,” he told her in a husky voice once again. “Now we’re about to eat tomatoes.”

“With garlic, and olive oil, and basil, and a bit of arugula—” she added. “You know what all of that is, right?”

“Aphrodisiacs?” he asked, reluctantly.

“Exactly! I’m gonna fill this little tummy—” She lovingly patted his stomach. “—with all the things that will get you all hot and bothered.”

He sipped on the sauce some more and she brought her hand down onto his crotch for a little squeeze.

“Do I feel—” she started.

“Yes, you do,” he told her, and his breath smelled of tomatoes and basil. Her fingers caressed over the warm fabric of his long underwear, and she could in fact feel a bit of an erecting in there.

“What say you and I have a little fun after dinner?” she offered him in a near whisper.

“Please,” he begged her, and he lowered his gaze to the pot of pasta behind her. “You’re boiling.”

She turned around and gasped at the sight. He snickered as she stirred the fettuccine noodles to calm it down before she drained them in the sink next to them. He kept that mischievous little smile on his face all the way to back to the couch: Alex had served himself a big bowl of pasta while Christine was eager to have more meatballs than him.

“The basil is sweet,” he noted with a little gyration of his head.

“Not as sweet as you,” she told him.

The fire roared before them and the snow billowed down on the other side of the window before them. He twirled his pasta around the tines of the fork and at a slow, deliberate pace no less. He picked up the orb of pasta and showed it to her.

“Delicious,” he said, and then he crammed the whole bite into his mouth.

“My goodness,” she declared.

Alex tilted his head back against the top of the couch and he closed his eyes as he relished in the fullness of the flavors. Christine took a large bite of pasta herself but with a meatball.

Given it was warm in the room, they both ate their food at a slow, deliberate pace. All the flavors fused with the feeling of each other’s bodies next to one another brought about a soft warm feeling between the two of them.

When he finished first, he watched her pick up the last meatball and then nibble upon it with the very edge of her teeth. Then she slipped the rest into her mouth and she turned to him with her mouth full.

“So good,” he breathed out, and his eyes glanced over to the window. It was still snowing, but the sun had set at that point, and that point, there came the milky soft light of the moon through the wispy clouds.

“The moon is full—like me.” He cracked her a tender, sweet smile, and Christine took his plate and set it as well as her own down on the floor before their feet. She then lunged closer to him all to touch and feel him.

His body was warm and soft, ripe and juicy like an apple picked right off the vine, just like how she expected him to be back in the orchard. He welcomed her and cradled her, her own personal aphrodisiac, in all his beauty and feeling of home.

“I hope those apples at the bottom of the hill are okay,” he breathed into her lips.

“They are,” she assured him.

“Show me the way,” he begged to her as he lay down on the couch. “Show me the way—”

“Make love to me—” she whispered to him as she pressed her hands onto the sides of his face.

“Only if you make love to me,” he whispered back to her.

She opened his shirt all to feel more of his warm skin. Her body over his, the warmth in her stomach with the full warmth that radiated from his belly, their hearts together, she had it within her with the feeling of all the aphrodisiacs that she could ever dream of at that point. She was leading him up that hill, all to the point of putting her hand down his long underwear.

His skin was warm, much warmer than his belly, and a lot softer. Her fingers ran over his skin all to tighten it up. He treated her to a soft groan from the back of his throat with each touch of her fingers.

There was a part of her that wanted to drive him insane, to drive him completely up the wall with the feeling.

“This is so forbidden,” she muttered as she ran her fingers down his bare chest.

“Not as forbidden as you—” he whispered right into her lips: the meeting of two cherries with her own as well. “Not nearly as forbidden as you, my dear—tell me—where do you like to be touched?”

“The place where life begins,” she whispered. “Down in front.”

With one hand on the small of her back, he slipped his other hand down her long underwear to her crotch. Those guitar player fingers grazed over her lips and underneath her hood for a gentle touch. She gasped at the feeling, to which he cracked her a smile.

She could feel the basil and the tomatoes doing their job, adjacent to the swipes of his fingers.

A chill ran up her spine and she still held onto his burgeoning erection all the while.

She locked eyes with him, those deep blue eyes like the ocean, and she used her other hand to pull down that long underwear all so he could release his load without soiling the inside.

“Big fat dick with a big lush pussy,” she breathed into his mouth. She gripped onto him and a little pearl emerged at the tip.

He slipped a finger right square onto her clit which in turn coaxed a gasp out of her. He cracked her a grin and she shook her head.

“Oh, you naughty, naughty boy,” she teased him. “Just for that—”

She moved her head to his dick, and she put her lips around the tip. He gasped at the sensation. Christine glided her teeth along the length of it and he moaned at the feeling. Her teeth deeper into his skin and he moaned louder.

She could feel another pearl inside of her mouth. He was coming for her.

She sank her teeth in as far as she could go without hurting him and his moan filled her ears as well as the room.

His fingers returned to the head of her clit, and she raised her head off his dick, complete with a bit of cum on her lips as she came for him again.

They locked eyes again, and that time around, he was a complete mess, with the sheen of sweat on the side of his face and his lips parted as he strove to catch his breath.

“Tomatoes,” he groaned out.

She licked the cream off her lips.

“Tomatoes and chocolate,” she corrected him.

“Tomatoes, chocolate, and apples,” he followed it up with a wink.

“You’re good,” she told him as she stroked his dick again with the tips of her fingers.

“No—you are. You’re so good.”

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As the Seasons Grey | Prologue

Mon, 08 Sep 2025 21:55:06 GMT

“I was hoping you’d make it.”

Alex showed me that sweet little smile as I walked on up to him through the darkness. It was nearly midnight and he had asked me to join him for a little something special. Something “immersive” as he called it, just in time for the world of Christmas. No snow had begun to fall in the Hollywood hills behind us as of yet, but I knew it was coming up there in the meantime. One wouldn’t think of Los Angeles as being all that festive, especially since he toured with the East Coast wing, but he and I were both adamant about it when I had met him back in New York City.

He took out a small, brass key from his pocket and he unlocked the back door to the concert hall for me. When I emerged into the patch of dim light courtesy of the street lamp off to the side there, I noticed the soft reddish sheen to his jacket: a deep red wine shade of velvet for a luxurious evening. Though neither he nor I had a lot of money on hand at the moment, we would make do of it all.

He then held the door for me with a thoughtful look plastered on his handsome face.

I bowed my head and showed him a shy smile as I walked in through the door there. He closed it right behind us and then he turned to me, still with the thoughtful expression on his face.

“What’d you say your name was again?” he asked me: given we were inside, he needn’t have to speak so loudly; his voice was so gentle and warm, like a pouring of wild fresh honey on freshly crisp toast on a cold morning.

“Didn’t. It’s Chris. Short for Christine.”

“Okay,” he said with a slight nod and a little smile to accompany it, “Chris, short for Christine—come with me.” He was so adorable with the way that he talked, almost out of one side of his mouth like he was about to crack me a really bad joke somewhere along the way. He reached behind me and flipped a couple of switches there on the wall by the door, one for the backstage area as well as the actual concert hall itself beyond there.

Alex led me along the backstage area until we reached a spot of brighter light, right before a heavy black curtain with sparkles embedded within, and once he turned to me, I was better able to look into his face and those deep-set soulful eyes of his. Though he was approaching forty, I never would have believed it from the smooth silkiness of his skin. I had the strangest desire to suddenly kiss him on the neck, right underneath his chin, just to feel the softness there, to see if he really was in fact that tender and soft.

He had brushed his shaggy rag mop of jet-black hair, which had grown out to where the ends caressed his shoulders. Though I absolutely went ape shit over his long lush curls as a young buck, he looked rather cute with scruffy hair. He also reminded me of Sweeney Todd with that little sole plume of gray at the front of his head.

I took a glimpse down to his body, to the crushed deep red velvet that encapsulated his slim body, the black vest underneath as well as the white silk button-up shirt. I spotted the delicate little silver Star of David about the size of a dime around his neck, as light as freshly fallen snow.

He turned to me, still with that smile on his face: he had prominent dimples that only made me want to kiss him more. He set his hands on the lapels of his coat and I noticed the fine, narrow light spot on his left ring finger. Recently divorced, and a sight that gave me a whole manner of questions no less.

“Ready?” he asked me.

“Ready.”

He reached to the right and pushed the curtain back, which in turn revealed the concert hall to me. Rows upon rows of seats extended back into the shadows at the far side of the vast room, as if it went on for an eternity. I glanced up to the ceiling and the chandelier right at the center of it all: the color and the shape of the whole thing reminded me of the anatomically correct shape of a human heart. I lowered my gaze to the stage right next to him, big enough for the whole entire performance, the orchestra as it awaited for their turn in the coming nights, and yet we had the time to have the building all to ourselves.

“Ta-da,” he declared.

“Beautiful,” I muttered. “I almost feel like I’m at the North Pole.”

“You should see the snow when it comes down during some songs,” he assured me as he led me out to the middle of the stage, right next to the stools where the bassist and one of the guitarists were directed to. “Especially during ‘Wizards of Winter.’ The snow just comes down in a vortex while I’m soloing.”

I turned my head again, that time for a better look at the four V.I.P. seats right before the stage and the orchestra pit. The plush upholstery of the seats made me yearn for a mug full of hot chocolate with those little marshmallows inside.

Alex knelt down to a cabinet right next to the platform for one of the drum kits and he took out a big green bottle of dark red wine, an old-fashioned corkscrew, and a pair of crystalline glasses. He set them both down atop the cabinet and he undid the cork with a flick of his wrist.

Soft skin and he was very strong as well.

“A little Porto to set the tone for us,” he proclaimed as he poured the wine into the glasses, one right after the other. The wine was in fact the same color as his jacket, and he was eager to hand me the glass.

I cradled the glass in the palm of my hand as I would a glass of brandy in anticipation of his being ready for a little toast of sorts. He returned to me with a slight rosiness to his face and the collar of his shirt undone to show me some skin.

“I notice you have a tan line on your ring finger,” I told him, to which he raised his left hand at me. The thoughtful expression returned to his face and I could only put two and two together.

“Oh, you poor man,” was all I could say, but he shrugged his narrow shoulders at that.

“The fire is alive and well, my little snow bunny,” he vowed to me with a raise of his glass to me.

“I hope this isn’t a rebound,” I confessed to him as I held the glass of wine out before me,

“I promise you, Chris—it isn’t. The feelings have been water under the bridge for quite a while now.” He tipped the glass back onto his full, sensual lips and took a hearty swig. I followed suit: though it wasn’t hot chocolate, it was sweet and lush, and it did feel quite warm within me. The taste of the grapes washed over me, and I held it down to my waist.

He gestured to the seats right at the edge of the stage.

“Have a seat,” he coaxed me.

I doubled back towards the rail where I spotted the walkway down to the aisle down in front, and ultimately, the step up to the small but cozy V.I.P. section. I took my spot in the one closest to the stage all so I could put my feet up in the seat to my right. I swirled the wine in the glass and I watched him.

He was like a dark prince with the way that he moved about before me on that stage, a ghost with the shadows at his back and the great wide unknown right before him, a thief in the night. He sipped on his wine and gazed up at the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, and I noticed that the bottom of his vest was pushing his silk shirt up his body a bit. The soft white light in the hall washed over him and his milky skin to the point it softened the sharp prominence of his brow and brought those deep blues forth out of the shadows of his face. The plume of gray shone as if it was made of glitter and garland: the black of his curls reminded me of the blackness of night eternal.

He was snowy and ghostly at the same time; and when he closed his eyes and arched his back a bit so as to relax himself a bit more, I caught a little glimpse of his bare waist. Snowy, ghostly, and childlike all at the same time. Young and ancient at the same time. Slim and yet so shapely, and the caress of the wine only made him all the more lush and opulent, even with the presence of humility.

Another sip of wine and then he turned and set it down on the stool next to him.

He picked up the beautiful cherry red acoustic guitar from the rack on the side of the stage next to him and he slung it over his shoulder. Without sparing another moment, he strode over to the very front of the stage, a mere few feet away from me. I nestled down in the seat and I awaited him for his solo performance.

“So, what’s on the menu for tonight, my prince?” I asked him. He showed me a playful little smirk and ran his fingers through his black curls: all the while, I caught a quick glimpse of his silver streak by the roots.

He bowed his head for a brief moment, and then he raised it up at a slow pace so the light could cross over him and nourish every curve and soft smooth contour of his face and neck.

“A desire to leave the world behind,” he announced in a fuller tone of voice. “Christmas is everywhere we turn and to the heart of the deepest shadows, we retreat and find solace from it all.” He turned towards me and he locked eyes with me for a moment: a few feet away from him and I could feel his power.

“An escape,” I followed along.

“An escape while sharing our time together in the universe,” he added. “I am Jewish and I’m by myself on Christmas. I know that you, too, are alone.”

“Indeed, I am,” I confessed to him. He turned to the stool right behind him and took his seat with that red guitar plunked across right his lap.

“I wish to take you for a little ride, my dear,” he told me as he adjusted the seat of the stool. “A ride of the mind through the heart and soul of the holidays. May I take you into the corners of your mind where the holiday cheer meets with the feelings you didn’t know you had. The season, the darkness, every last part of it—everything you can imagine and then some. Allow me to indulge in you, and I shall allow you to indulge in me.”

Those eyes, as deep and hypnotic as the clear night sky that followed a day’s worth of hefty snowfall, gazed right back at me in all of their rich royal blue glory. I sank down into the plush seat and I brought my knees up to my chest as if I would at a roaring fire’s edge.

The tales of Christmas, like I had never witnessed before, as vast as Siberia itself.

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Night of the Witch | Prologue

Thu, 21 Aug 2025 03:57:43 GMT

I woke up in Redding again. I hadn’t woken up here in years, not since I was that scrappy little teenager who left behind a paper trail of puke and a throbbing pain in his head some years ago. But this time, I woke up alone in my hotel room, and through the crack in the curtains, I made out the silhouette of Mount Shasta out there. I lay on my back with my arms on either side of me as if I was about to go in for surgery of some kind.

I had no memory of the night before, other than I had laid down with a glass of wine and some time to myself. Such was tour life: the night before, I woke up outside of Eugene, and now I found myself back in the heart of Northern California. I always found my way back, even if I lived over on the East Coast now.

I rolled my head over the top of the pillow for a look at the clock on my desk: six-thirty. All I knew was free breakfast wouldn’t come forth for at least another hour, but I was hungry at that moment.

I hoisted myself up onto my elbows and peered out the window again. There was a big part of me that wanted to finish out the rest of this tour and then explore more of Oregon until Testament embarked on another tour for themselves in a few months’ time, but then again, I had things to do back home, and I needed to rest and recharge as well. I wasn’t a young man, anymore anyway, as demonstrated by the lack of puke on my person.

A quick dressing and a comb through my hair, and I stepped outside to the early morning light for a walk until the buffet opened and I could meet with Nate and Matt for our next round before we had to head to rehearsals. It was a chilly one, one where I could feel the snow in the air and the cool of the night still with me. I wasn’t so much in the mood to go out running, however: there had been too many times where I did that on a cold morning, and I could scarcely catch my breath afterwards to enjoy my shower. But the sun was shining, and I had the glow in the roots of my hair to boot as well.

I reached the edge of the hotel parking lot, where I spotted a woman on the far corner dressed in a bright pink dress paired with fishnets and one of those long black clove cigarettes hanging out of her mouth. She looked to be young, far younger than me all the way down to her smooth heart-shaped face and clear eyes, but she had her eye on me, however.

She was tempting me. She was tempting me the way in which a hooker would do for an unsuspecting schlub like myself.

In fact, it took me a moment to realize that she was in fact a hooker, all the way down to the several-inch-tall high heels. She showed me a smile as she strolled up to me with one of those clove cigarettes in hand.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted me in a voice that sounded like red wine straight out of the bottle.

“How’s it going?” I asked her, only just to be polite to her as I needn’t tempt myself with her.

“It’s going,” she replied, and she ran her gaze over me as if she was checking out a slice of the finest meat in the kosher deli.

“I don’t have much money on me, I’m afraid,” I confessed to her as I patted myself down and stood right before her.

“That’s alright,” she assured me with a shake of her head and another puff from the cigarette: the smell of burning leaves was unmistakable. “We can have some fun for the time being.”

“I haven’t really done this sort of thing in a long time, if I’m honest,” I confessed to her; I was going to break it to her that I didn’t want to have a record at some point, but she smelled so good aside from the clove cigarettes: she smelled like vanilla extract straight out of the cupboard.

“It’s alright,” she promised me. “I can show you some things.” She held the cigarette off to the side and let the smoke waft over us: I could tell that she was looking right into my eyes, even with the sunglasses on my face. “I’m Starla.”

“I’m Alex,” I introduced myself to her.

“The dynamic Alex with the cute hair,” she remarked with a glimpse up to the top of my head and the shock of gray at the crown. I cracked a smile at the sound of that, and I kept it up as she reached up with her free hand and ran her fingers through the streak. Even with clove cigarettes having made their mark on her fingers, her touch remained soft and gentle on me.

“Why don’t we get away from the street?” I suggested to her with a nod back to the hotel.

“Not at this hotel, though,” she confessed. “I got banned for breaking one of the beds. It wasn’t my fault, though: it was already falling apart.”

“I believe you,” I promised her with a nod. She then took me by the hand and led me up the sidewalk towards what appeared to be a bakery with its bright neon pink sign in the window reading “Smell the Magic” as well as its offerings of cakes, breads, cookies, pastries, and Jewish and Mediterranean goods, and the fact they were established in Portland back in 1979. Starla led me around the corner to the alleyway between it and the brick building next door: the smell of the clove cigarettes was intoxicating as she ran her fingers down my chest once again. In fact, the smell was so intoxicating that I pressed my back to the wall behind me and slid down to the gravel beneath our feet.

She chuckled and followed me down. She was about to climb on top of me when the back door of the bakery swung open.

“Shit…” she muttered, and she backed away from the alleyway. My sunglasses had perched onto the bridge of my nose and nearly fell off by the time she had ducked away from there.

I ran my fingers through my hair and glimpsed over to the right to find one of the bakers, a short curvy woman with long dark hair tied back into a snug ponytail and about five or six bracelets on one wrist, had emerged from the inside to take the trash out.

“Oh, dear,” I remarked; I turned my head again to find that Starla had disappeared into the cold morning shadows. I returned to the baker once more, who then beheld an open box filled with all manner of bagels. I was feeling hungry on two levels, and thus, the sight of those only made me hungrier.

“Those look good,” I told her with a nod towards her.

“Would you like one?” she offered me in a tender Southern California voice. “They’re day-olds, but they’re still plenty good, though. I was going to donate these to the soup kitchen across the street.”

“Yeah, put me down for that cheese one you have in your hand there,” I replied, and I couldn’t resist smiling at her and more so when I walked on over to her to greet her. I kept my sunglasses perched upon the bridge of my nose so she could see into my eyes; she handed me the bagel, and I held it up to my nose for a smell. All the while, I wondered what had happened to Starla as a part of me wanted to share one with her: she walked these streets of Redding on a regular basis, and thus, surely, she could use something like that.

“What’s your name?” I asked her before I took a bite.

“Christine.”

“Christine Sixteen,” I retorted back, and she laughed at that.

“That’s Christine the Strawberry Girl to you,” she teased me. The bagel was delicious. It was a bit dry as it needed some butter and a cup of coffee, but it was quite delicious.

“Do you have any butter to go with this? Or… can I get this toasted?” I asked her.

“I can toast it for you,” Christine promised me, and she gestured for me to come inside of the back room of the bakery. I kept the bagel in hand as she ducked out of the alleyway and to that soup kitchen in question across the street. All the while, I turned my attention to the spacious room before me, which smelled of sugar and yeast. The walls were lined with these spacious shelves filled with boxes and things, including one big box near the floor filled with nothing but bottles of vanilla extract; next to that stood a white box filled with pastry bags and tips.

“Wow,” I muttered, and I knew that I had hit the jackpot of sorts. There was a part of me that was still young, after all, that still wanted to indulge in girls and all manner of sweet things, even if it was bad for you. Underneath the veil of clove cigarettes, Starla had smelled of vanilla extract, after all. And as soon as I thought about that, Christine returned to me with empty hands and the smile on her face still very much in place. I showed her the bagel, and she hooded her dark eyes at me.

“Hey, is there any way I could take a few of these back to my bandmates?” I requested of her. “We’re staying at the hotel a couple of doors up and I know they’d love something like this before we go to rehearsals in a few hours.”

“Let me go and talk to my manager,” she assured me with a smile and a wink. “I’ll see what I can do for you. In the meantime, I’ll get that toasted.” She picked off a paper plate from the shelf closest to her head, and I placed the bagel on top. There was something about the way in which she looked at me as she led me out of there and into the front part of the bakery itself. Bright and twinkling lights covered the entire ceiling overhead, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander over to the colorful mixers upon the wall next to me: the shelves before me were loaded with all manner of bread and things. Meanwhile, there was a display case off to my right filled with pastries, donuts, cakes, pies, and cookies, all the things that would make me gain even more weight tout suite.

Christine took my bagel over to a small toaster oven on the shelf behind the display case, and I watched her slice it in half before schmearing some butter on each side and tucking it inside of there. She skirted past me and ducked over to one side of the room to fetch her manager in question.

Her inky black flyaway hair was tied back, also in a taut ponytail at the back of her head. Her milky white skin only made me think of a ghost while her hazel eyes burned into me like the finest, Frenchest of clove cigarettes the street could offer me.

“Hello,” she greeted me; something about her accent caught my attention.

“Hi,” I returned the favor.

“Christine asked me about possibly taking some more day-olds to your mates,” she filled in.

“As a matter of fact, she did,” I replied with a nod, and I finally took off my sunglasses for her to look into my eyes.

“I’m Lottie,” she greeted me with an outstretched hand.

“I’m Alex,” I said as I shook her hand. “I really like your accent, too. It’s not one you really hear around here.”

“Oh, I get that so much,” she assured me. “It’s expected when you hail from the northwest of England, and you find yourself somewhere in the backwoods of upstate New York followed by California.”

“I get that completely,” I promised her with a shake of my head and a creeping smirk on my face. “I came from the Bay Area and now I live all the way in New York City.”

“The move across continents is a tender one,” she told me with a raise of her eyebrows at me. “Anyways, er… what would you like to bring home to your mates?”

“How ‘bout an everything bagel and a blueberry one?” I suggested.

“Regular or Hawaiian style?”

“You guys have Hawaiian style?” I was taken aback by that.

“As a matter of fact, we do,” Lottie replied, and for a second, I thought she fluttered her eyelashes at me. She brushed past me to the shelves with the loaves of bread and the bagels bound up and placed on display for all of us to see. It took me a moment to realize that Christine had gone and my cheese bagel had still been tucked up in the toaster oven on the other side of the room.

“Where’d Christine go?”

“Over here,” she duly replied as she strode on up next to me with an empty cookie sheet in hand. She still smelled of vanilla extract, and more so when she returned to me with my bagel rested upon the plate for me. I thanked her and took a better bite that time around.

There was something almost primordial about her, as if she came from another planet of some kind. The same could be said for Lottie as well as she took two Hawaiian style bagels, one to go to Nate and the other to Matt, to the counter for some wrapping.

“Would you like our number as well?” she offered me in a low voice.

“Yeah, why not?” I replied. “I like this place. I’m not in NorCal as much as I used to be, but I’ll take a number.” With nothing more to add, Lottie wrote down the bakery’s phone number on a white silken sheet of paper, and I noticed that she added hers as well as Christine’s numbers.

At the end of the day, I was still a tom cat, even though I had grown older and much wiser. I was still going to have those girls embedded within my mind, and nothing about them was going to leave at all, either.

It all started simply because I woke up in Redding again.

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