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Girl Crazy

Pearce Hansen

The buzzing of his alarm clock awakened K.C., and he reached out clumsily to silence it.  He was alone in bed -- Jasmine must have gone off to crash at home the night before. He sat up at the edge of the mattress, the sheets tangled about him as he squeezed his head.  God, he hurt – he had to stop partying on work nights.  But Jasmine had come over, and K.C.'s friend the Tinman was visiting all the way from the hard scrabble hills of Kentucky.  As usual Jasmine had been in the mood to smoke and drink, and K.C. had never been able to deny her.  So they'd all partied late into the night.  K.C. had begged off on one last bong hit, and went to bed without her.  He'd figured she'd join him later, maybe wake him for a little early morning fun.  As K.C. had drifted off to a dreamless sleep, he'd heard Jasmine and Tinman laughing together, getting on as thick as thieves. 

K.C. padded naked down the hall to the bathroom: shit, shower, shave.  He examined his bloodshot eyes in the steamy mirror, and briefly considered just going back to bed.  He finally opted not to; still, he wondered how he was going to make it through his turn at stakeout.  K.C. got dressed in his bedroom, and then headed to the kitchenette to drink some coffee and make lunch.  He was as quiet as he could be – there was no reason the Tinman should have to get up before noon.  

A low linoleum counter separated the kitchenette from the living room.  Ordinarily, K.C. could look over the counter, through the living room, and out the sliding glass door that opened onto the balcony.  K.C.'s apartment was on the beach, and the balcony commanded a fine view of the San Francisco Bay.  He liked to open the curtains wide in the morning and let in the light of the dawn sun.  Then he'd stand there sipping his black cup of pre-stakeout coffee, watching the surf roll endlessly against the beach.  Now, however, the drapes were shut tight to accommodate the Tinman.  As K.C. started brewing the coffee, he glanced into the living room, expecting to see Tinman camped out on the couch like a hillbilly vampire.  That was not what he saw.

Without conscious volition, he found himself in the living room hovering over them.  They were both naked there on the carpeted floor.  Their bodies were intertwined as they lay passed out after their love play, and the smell of sex filled the room like strong incense, tormenting him.  He absently admired the perfection of Jasmine's bikini-model body: the firm, pear-shaped breasts with their nipples like thick gold coins; her tiny waist swelling to her lush ass and firm haunches.  Her plump mound beckoned mockingly, and love juices still glistened on her downy pubic hair.  An angel's smile played across her sleeping face, innocent as a baby’s.  Low on the Tinman's ribs, K.C. could see a long white knife scar.  Tinman had gotten that scar saving K.C.'s life in Thailand, years before.  There was a roaring in K.C.'s ears, he was sweating and shaking.   

K.C. kept a Louisville slugger leaning against the wall inside his front door, for unwanted visitors and 2AM pickup baseball games.  With no particular intention in mind, he stepped to it, scooped it up, and returned to loom over the sleeping couple.  Jasmine, and Tinman, and the bat in his hand, were the only things that existed.  His callused hand twitched, and he realized without surprise that he wanted nothing more than to raise the bat over his head and bring it down as hard as he could, again, and again, and again . . . He also realized that once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.  He imagined their screams of dismay as their bones crunched and the overlaying flesh split like the skins of over-ripe fruit.  He stood there swaying, considering the whole dilemma clinically. 

Suddenly something broke inside him like a parting cable, and he heard a voice, not his own, say, "Fuck it. The bitch ain't worth it."  K.C.'s eyes widened and he peered around the room open-mouthed, searching for the invisible speaker.  No one else was there.  He replied to the air, "You know what? You're right."  He chuckled as he quietly returned the bat to its front door parking spot.  He quietly wrote a note to his ex-girlfriend: 'Jasmine: Please don't be here when I get home from work.'  K.C. quietly stuck the note in her purse, and quietly left his apartment to go off to do his plant.  He sat there in his car quietly all day, watching the money train flow at the bank he and Tinman had decided to plunder.

When he got home from working, Jasmine wasn't there -- the Tinman was, however.  His bony Appalachian face wore a haunted look as he stood in the living room, facing K.C.  His big knobby hands were spread wide and empty.

"There ain't nothin' I can say, is there?"  Tinman asked his one-time friend in his backwoods twang.  K.C. considered, and then shook his head, long faced.  "You want to fuck me up?"  Tinman asked.  K.C. knew the offer was genuine, but again he shook his head no.

"No, man," K.C. said.  "I didn't have no strings on her. And I'm the one who crashed and left you two alone. I guess you'll be heading back to Kentucky now?"  It wasn't really a question: Tinman was already packed; he picked up his overnight bag and brushed past K.C..  He stopped just outside the apartment door and half-turned toward K.C., as if he was going to say something more.  He hesitated a moment, then turned and walked away.       

K.C. shut the front door gently, walked to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch.  The curtains to the balcony were still closed, and he left them that way.  He sat there in the dim room, considering ways, and means, and wherefores – the bank would be a tougher nut to crack alone, but that was what was in the cards now.  

The sun went down, and the living room grew steadily darker.  The light of day was completely gone when someone knocked on the door.  K.C. got up and padded across the carpet.  His heart was pounding, but he couldn’t decide if it was from dread or anticipation: he had a good idea who it was.   

Jasmine stood framed in the doorway as he swung the door open, backlit by the streetlights in the parking lot behind her.  The light was dim, but he could see her hair hanging down to her butt like a cloud of spun honey.  The low-cut red silk dress she wore clung tight to every curve, from her full, barely covered breasts, down past the curve of her hips to the succulent lines of her thighs.  The dress ended there, a bare inch below her crotch.  K.C.'s eyes followed the course of her long legs down past her knees along her trim calves; she was wearing platform pumps, and she stood with her whole body yearning toward his.  His gaze returned to her face, barely seen in the gloom.  Her eyes glittered at him.  "Aren't you going to let me come inside?" she asked in a whisper.    

K.C. tried to stand firm, but then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes.  They were bottomless brown pools of need, and he almost drowned in them before he wrenched his gaze away.  He stepped aside, and she strutted past him into the dark apartment, her short skirt swishing on her round hips with each step.  She was doused in cheap cologne, the way she knew he liked it, and it clung to him in an intoxicating cloud as he followed her into the living room.         

He hit the switch and the lights came on, but inky pools of shadow still lurked in the room's corners.  Jasmine stood next to the tiny love seat, waiting for him to join her.  Instead K.C. grabbed a chair from the kitchen and carried it into the living room.  He placed it on the carpet and sat down, looking up at Jasmine expectantly.   

A tiny frown suddenly marred her perfect features, and then was gone.  "Why so cold?  You can't really be mad about this morning can you?"    

K.C.'s eyes widened in disbelief.  "What did you expect?  He was my best friend."   

Jasmine swayed over to him and stood right in front of him, almost brushing against him – but not quite.  She looked down at K.C. from under her long lashes.  "You don't own me," she breathed.          

"That's true enough," he said, voice a little unsteady as her perfume washed over him.  "But you don't own me either."        

Jasmine’s eyes widened and her ruby lips curled into a sneer that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.  "Yes I do," she said as took a step forward, straddling her legs widely as she pulled up her short skirt and sank to sit on K.C.'s lap facing him, her eyes bright.  The blood beat thickly in K.C.'s neck – Jasmine had nothing on under her skirt.           

She ground her crotch against his, gyrating slowly in a clockwise motion.  Despite his earlier intentions, K.C. found himself responding.  Jasmine felt him growing and smiled, leaning forward until their foreheads touched and her long hair cascaded down around K.C.'s face.  She stared straight into his eyes as she continued rubbing the tips of her firm breasts against him.  Jasmine’s perfume enfolded him to dominate.         

Jasmine let the spaghetti straps of her dress slide off her shoulders, and now her firm breasts rubbed against his shirt in a maddening counterpoint to her crotch rubbing against his.          

K.C. was threatening to burst out of his pants when Jasmine stopped her rubbing and rose up for a moment to undo his zipper and let him spring out.  "You're ready," Jasmine whispered looking down at it with something like reverence.   

K.C. grabbed the underside of the chair with both hands as Jasmine tossed her hair back over her shoulders and positioned herself.  She slid slowly down and sat there for a long moment, impaled.  K.C. could feel her tiny breaths puffing against his neck as she held him without moving, the side of her head pressed against his broad chest.

Then Jasmine began to ride him, raising and lowering herself as he sat in the chair without moving – slowly at first, then bucking more quickly, breathing faster and faster, her hair cascading from over her shoulders to mask her like a veil.  K.C. arched his hips up against hers, all his old feelings for her rising within him despite her earlier betrayal, and then his hands left their grips at the sides of the chair and grabbed at Jasmine’s sleek hips as he lunged to his feet, knocking the chair over to lie on its side behind him, his hands squeezing at her and pulling her down again and again against each thrust, standing in the middle of the room with her wrapped around him.  K.C. was grunting hoarsely as he slammed the last quick strokes, and Jasmine was yelping and moaning as there were overwhelming bursts of stars and the world went away for one long shuddering moment, Tinman and friendship and honor forgotten as he slid off into darkness on waves of ecstasy.  

He came back to himself, still stroking slowly into Jasmine as he stood there, Jasmine’s arms and legs entwined lazily around him.  She sighed and then giggled in momentary contentment.  “Fucking is so much fun,” she whispered.  

K.C. thought of Tinman and stopped fucking her as the realization hit him from seeming nowhere: no matter how many times he fucked Jasmine, he’d never reach her heart.  He pulled himself out of her as he untangled her and stood her on her feet.  She stood there staring up at him, her dress hiked up around her hips.  K.C. looked at her angel’s face – she had never looked more beautiful to him.   

“What’s wrong with you?  Why did you stop?”  Jasmine’s voice was shrill.  

K.C. studied her in disbelief: she really didn’t have a clue.  “I lost a friend today, baby, maybe the best friend I ever had.  That’s my problem.  I’d like to say I lost you too, but now I see I never really had you.  I guess that’s my problem too.”  K.C. paused, awkwardly searching for the words.  “I don’t want you anymore, Jasmine.  You cost too much to keep around.”  He stood there awaiting her reply.   

Jasmine had stared unblinkingly at him this whole time, not saying a word as she slowly pulled her dress down and adjusted the shoulder straps.  Then she licked her lips and smiled at him.  “You can’t say no to me,” she said, her eyes glowing avidly.  “You’re mine.  You’ve been inside me – I own you.”   

K.C. looked in her eyes with a thrill of strangeness, almost able to see the jigsaw pieces missing from her soul.  “Time to go, baby,” he said, gently grasping her arm to guide her out.           

She shook off his hand and walked ahead of him to the door, her hips swinging, her achingly beautiful butt swishing from side to side under the red silk.  K.C. gulped.  Jasmine stopped at the door and looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes still strange as K.C. reached carefully past her to open the door and pull it open, careful not to touch her – he did not look her in the eyes.  She kept staring at him, not moving until she finally realized he wasn’t going to relent.  Then she strutted out and stopped just outside the door, turning to face him. 

“You think you can get away that easy?”  Her laughter was like broken glass.  “If I come here again, I can have you again, anytime.  Anytime I want you, all I have to do is crook my little finger and you’ll come crawling!”     

“You think what you want Jasmine,” K.C. said as he swung the door shut.   

“You’re mine!” Jasmine shouted outside the closed apartment door.  Then he heard her pumps tock-tocking on the cement as she strode rapidly down the walkway into the night.           

As he leaned heavily against the inside of the door, K.C. prayed she was wrong.

Copyright(c) 2007 by Pearce Hansen

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