With her worn sneakers almost gliding along the sidewalk, Emma hurried away from the bodega with the peanut butter and quart of milk. They had run out and her mother left money on the kitchen table for Emma to get more at the small store four blocks away. Her toe caught on an uneven portion of concrete where the slab had cracked and shifted. Stumbling forward, she panicked as the bag with her purchase swung precariously in front of her. But she maintained her grip and restored her balance and kept moving.
The man waiting outside had frightened her. His smile seemed greasy and so were his words as he complimented Emma on her looks, telling her how hot she looked.
Emma didn't think of herself like that. Certainly, she dreamed of being glamorous but her thin, eight year-old body was a far cry from that of the pouty women who graced the billboards all around her.
A city bus passed by her and on the side was a dark-haired woman with a generously displayed cleavage advertising perfume. Emma didn't know what boobs had to do with how you smelled but the flat terrain beneath her own t-shirt put her a fair distance away from the model.
Of course, the contrasts didn't stop there. Emma's hair was light brown, a little streaky in color with dark blonde mixed in. And it wasn't long and flowing like the perfume lady's - just pulled back straight in a head band.
Having slipped down her nose during her near tumble, Emma's glasses were in danger of coming off. She pushed them back in place with a practiced gesture; her finger pressing against the bridge of the cheap plastic frame. From behind the lenses, her hazel eyes - nowhere near the deep dark that Ms. Perfume used to produce a sultry stare - swiveled for any sign of further trouble.
The man's voice slithered through her memory again as it replayed itself against her will. He had especially liked her rear end although he had used a cruder term for it. From there, he went on about how sweet it was for such a little girl to fill out her jeans so well. The touch of his words made her feel slimy all over.
There was her apartment building ahead. Comforted by the dirty brown brick structure, Emma risked a look back and did not see her creepy admirer. She turned her head around and began to take a deep breath of relief.
That was just before the cloth was clapped over her nose and mouth. She knew a moment of panic and a whiff of something vaguely sweet and then...nothing.
The grab - no, the rescue - had gone smoothly. Of course it had - it was meant to be. This strengthened the acolyte as he carried her from the threats of the soiled world into the sanctuary of the temple.
Laying her out on the bed, he paused to bask in her presence. They were together at last. It was no coincidence that he had first discovered her on the day of the summer solstice three months ago. Certainly, he had seen her before but then the Sun and the Earth had aligned to illuminate his new path.
Being unworthy of her at the moment, he had studied her carefully. It was easy to observe her and he had even taken photos so that her image might be with him at all hours whenever they were apart. His favorites had been a set of her wearing slightly baggy shorts. No, her garments did not need to be tight to show her beauty like the cretin by the store had alluded to.
In his cherished photos, Emma's slender legs were slightly tanned. She was climbing on a playset in the park near the prison she had been forced to call home and her legs were at all angles as she moved about.
When her thighs were bent upward, her shorts slid down to reveal an even lighter shade of golden tan higher up those precious limbs. From one of his shooting angles, he had a view of the inside of her thigh, her skin becoming perfectly pale just inside the loose leg of her shorts. And he even caught a sliver of pink - of the garment that covered her holiest of places.
He frowned now as he looked at the cheap clothing that covered her meager frame. Pig Mama had clothed the child in poor rags. Oh, the woman claimed to be the girl's mother but he knew, he knew that there was no way that such a tawdry lump of flesh could produce this wondrous being before him. When the media came, Pig Mama would be famous but they would never find the baby she had stolen from the heavens and she would eventually go away.
Using a knife he had carefully honed, he cut away the clothing from the girl. They would be disposed of discreetly and as he stuffed them into a trash bag, he paused. In his hand was the last bit - the shredded white panties with red polka dots. They were unworthy of her, to be sure, but they had touched her flesh much like the Shroud of Turin had touched the body of Jesus. No, he would keep this for himself - an icon to be worshipped.
Regarding the small glasses, he put them aside as well, although he couldn't explain why. Perhaps in the future she would let him laugh with her as they regarded this bit of the disguise she had been made to wear before he set her free.
Unfortunately, she wasn't quite free. He knew she would be confused from her time spent among the human squalor. And he had no doubt that Pig Mama had tried to pollute her mind with hatred toward those who only wished to serve her. But he had chosen the silk with great care; long strips of shimmering gold secured on each end to the bed frame and which he fastened around her wrists and ankles.
Now her flawless form was before him in its entire sleek, young splendor. Beneath her was more silk - sheets of white. With trembling fingers, he caressed her skin which rivaled the material under her and securing her limbs. But the cloth did not carry the warmth she had nor did it pulse with the actions of her heart as his hand pressed between her unformed breasts.
Reluctant to leave the blessing of her pulses, he continued to absorb her radiance with his hands. Although thin, her thighs were firm with muscle with just the slightest covering of softer flesh beneath the skin. The tiny mound at the apex of her legs was as smooth as the rest of her but was so plump and pliant beneath his adoring touches.
When she began to stir, his pulse quickened. He could feel the perspiration on his face, trickling down his neck. And he felt another reaction as he prepared to greet her. The eyelids fluttered open, showing confusion. As the hazel orbs cleared from the drug she had inhaled, he saw the expression as she noticed him.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade
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Changes last made on: Wednesday, December 06, 2017