It was a bright snowy night, the streets were crowded and cheerful, people chattering everywhere with a loud visible smile on their faces, Almost all houses in the street were a party ground, Some lawns appeared like Christmas, but it was all past that, It was the end of December, the end of the year, it was only a matter of one more hour left then the skies would be decorated with fireworks, the streets illuminated by party bombs if anyone still uses them in the New Year's Eve.
Carl, a tall, robust figure, long beard, and thick moustache almost hiding his mouth, gave the impression of a homeless man to anyone who looked at him, He was such a handsome young fellow, but the homeless costume of his did suit him well, He came out of a party house, tears rolling down his cheeks, but his face was subtle, he didn't show that he was crying, but deep down, he was broke, shattered.
'I slept with Gary' Her girlfriend had said, the voice echoed in his head like a thunder bell, On and on.
Gary? Who the fuck is Gary? Does that even matter? It didn't matter to him, All he knew was that it's over between him and her, It was an estranged relationship between them for months, but it was on the New Year's Eve that it came to light along with many other's laughter in the streets.
He got in his car, he almost thought for a minute or two, What to do? Where to go?
'Fuck it' he muttered to himself, Started the engine, wiped his tears that managed to flow to his beard without turning into a piece of chilled ice, He wiped them off by the heels of his hand and drove away.
Where was he going? Didn't matter as long as it's somewhere far from her, far from her house, He knew that the following year wouldn't bring any luck but the pain in his ass, Talking about luck, he remembered buying two bottles of vodka to celebrate the new year with her, Now he gets to celebrate it all by himself, He pulled over the car, got out, and unwrapped the box on the backseat of the car, the box spilt snow sprays, party bombs, dozens of candles, and two bottles of vodka, He also found a dozen of beer.
Beer? Have it, Carl, You deserve it but finish the vodka first, He shifted the vodka bottle and beer to the front passenger seat and began driving, one hand on the wheels, and the other one holding vodka.
'What are you smiling at? Bitch!' he swore gazing upon a photo of Ingrid Bergman.
The chick from those old movies, He always liked her, There was a time when he even masturbated for her in the same old car, for which he didn't feel happy, It felt weird for him somehow, He never stopped admiring her but did stop jerking for her, Was it because Ingrid isn't cum worthy?
No, because he respected and admired her so much, that jerking off to her felt odd.
'I am sorry Ingrid' He said to the photo, taking a big gulp of the vodka, groaned for the burn that the vodka did in his throat. 'Sorry that I called you bitch' One more gulp, and another one, The bottle was empty in a matter of a few large gulps, He had been drinking like a bear rather than a man.
He threw the bottle out of the window, His hands reached for Ingrid's photo, touched her lips over the photo, he was touching and feeling as if he was touching her real lips, He smiled, Even he had no idea, what that smile meant, He reached for another bottle of vodka, but this time, the road wasn't straight, the wind wasn't warm, his eye wasn't sharp, his hands weren't steady, A bright light beamed up as if the sun appeared out of the curve, It was a truck glowing a high beam light,
'Oh shit' He yapped as he steered hard right. He was well aware of the fact that it was a narrow bitchy curvy road, and sides are nothing but woods, In the darkness, they were spooky woods.
The car hit the sidebars of the road, knocked them out, the truck came drifting, wobbling, and the car was out of its way, rolled and rolled like a doughnut running down the stairs, The glasses shattered, seat belt, party bombs, snow sprays and beer, floated and crashed against everything, For Carl, it felt as if he was in a car in the space, floating with the lack of gravity, No, the gravity was calling for him, and he was going there.
A river, a small stream of water running above his head, the car was upside down, half sunk in the river, half on the river bed. Water filled in, wetted his hair, and beard. It was still dark for Carl to expect rescue, He could expect rescue if the truck driver had a big heart and called for 911 to report the car crash, Only then will they come looking for him. So, the question is will he? Carl didn't have a mobile, He didn't care to own one.
***
'Don't disturb him, Paula.' A gentle sweet voice spoke, The voice was so soothing and calming that it almost sounded like nightingale speaking, Carl pressured his eyelids to open, Beautiful, ample, mature women in a maroon silk robe presented herself.
'Oh god, you're awake.' She said, but Carl couldn't hear a thing, All he saw was her coral smooth lips waving, and her perfectly organized teeth shone, white as a pearl, neatly organized in the mouth of that lady, She looked tall, as tall as his girlfriend, His ex-girlfriend would be a more appropriate term since the new year.
Carl found himself on a bed, a blanket pulled up till his tummy, his bare body exposed to the moist air. The room was small, on the left side, there was an enormous shelf almost hiding the entire wall, The shelf had a plethora of books organized but dusted, It looked like no one ever stepped inside this room except for Carl in a very long time, behind him was the wall that smelled of old books and wood dust.
Maybe the entire room smelled like books and wood dust, but the smell from the wall was stronger than anywhere in the room, On the right, across the room, there was a table on which lay a Royal typewriter, a study lamp, a big book like a brick, dusted, almost covered with cobwebs. Someone in this house once was a writer -- is all Carl could detect, Right next to the table was a door left ajar, The ground was of wood, the ceiling was of wood and so di the wall and rest of the room, and even house perhaps.
A cabin perhaps or an old lodge?
'Where am I?' Carl asked as he tried to sit up on the bed, He felt his cock rubbing against the soft part of the blanket underneath and realized that he was completely naked, 'how did you find me? where was I?' he piled up his questions to that lady.
'It's okay, It's okay.' she smiled, 'I am Olivia, I and my son happened to cross that way and we found the wrecked car by the river. You were inside it, I believe you are aware that you had an accident, but you seemed to have all the luck, given that you are still alive in all one piece.' she sat on the chair on the bedside to his right.
Carl sat up and sensed tremendous pain in his ass, and beneath, His upper body was well and fine, while his lower body was an internal mess.
'How long have I been here?' he asked, 'what is today's...date?' he scanned the room for a calendar first, found nothing, Searched for a clock, found nothing, The room was filled with books and books and nothing else, And yeah, the royal typewriter, That's pretty much everything he could find.
She held his hands, her skin was so smooth, shining, that he felt an odd breeze on his skin, he looked back and looked right into her brown eyes, Something surprised him, It was the women herself, she surprised her on how much she reminds him of Hayley Atwell.
Olivia here couldn't be no less than forty, her bosom was shaggy but busty that he could tell just by the look of her silk robe, He could also tell that she wasn't wearing a bra underneath.
'Someone saved your ass, and you're thinking of fucking her. aren't you?' He was swearing himself, except it all was a whisper in his head.
'Is he awake?' another women's voice came from the hallway. A young woman, no less than 25 appeared near the door in her camisole through which her ample firm breast was pointing, and jeans that enveloped her long legs, and a flip flop carrying her well maintained feet, Just by the look of her, she exhibited a strong relevance with Gemma Arterton.
'Oh, yes honey' Olivia said, turning back to her, the young women came and stood beside her, gnawing at him, one hand on Olivia's shoulder, and another hand in her jean pocket, 'and this is Paula, My daughter.' She said to him and touched her daughter's hand on her shoulders.
'What's your name?' Paula asked sharply.
'Um...I am Carl...Carl Bernard' He answered.
'Carl?' Paula repeated, sounding amused, 'even the name?' She looked at Olivia.
'That's one...odd... coincidence, honey' She remarked.
Carl was puzzled. He had no idea what they were talking about, No, Wait, Carl? Yes, he remembered an old memory, an odd one too, "Carl? As in the mother-fucker?" a drunk guy at the bar had said and laughed, Carl couldn't make anything of it. whatever the inside joke or reference joke it was, he didn't understand, and this seemed like the same scenario, but in-depth.
