"i don't roll on shabbos..."
ok, that's complete BS, but i am feeling lazy this morning. here's a true tale that appeared on ostrich ink first...
TRINITY, THE HOLY HO'
I was heading back towards home, walking west on Hollywood Boulevard. It was around McCadden that I passed a beautiful girl walking in the opposite direction.
I caught her gaze -- partially obscured behind her big, brown sunglasses -- and smiled. She smiled back as we slowed but continued past one another. I heard her say "hi" so I returned the greeting and slowed even further, trying to look back over my shoulder at her. She had stopped on the sidewalk and was looking back at me.
She called out, "Do I know you?"
I strolled back towards her and replied that I didn't think so, but left it open that I wanted to. Is this why I had been smiling at people in the street? Truly this was a remnant from Burning Man where we do stop and engage in lovely conversations with random goddesses.
And this girl was a vision. Her hair was tucked under a floppy, colorful hat, a black T-shirt stretched tightly across her chest, and her tan, taut belly was framed by low-cut, skintight Diesel jeans.
She told me her name was Trinity as she gave me her small hand to shake, then showed me an oft-folded letter from a law firm that informed the reader that the bearer, Trinity, was working for a charity called Peacock Feathers.
"Baby, do you have any pot?" she then blurted out in her sweetly accented voice.
I told Trinity, no, not on my person. She asked if I had some at home and I told Trinity that I did. We decided to go to my place to get stoned; I lived just around the corner.
Trinity took my arm as we started to walk the few blocks back to my messy apartment. She spoke a blue streak as we went, bouncing from subject to subject like a pinball. She told me that she had been abused and was wary when someone touched her but that she liked her arm through mine. She asked if I had a computer and whether or not I could make her some business cards for Peacock Feathers. I said I could try. Finally, she told me she was a trained massage therapist and that she would give me a massage in exchange for getting her stoned.
"A real massage," she stressed. "Not what people think when they think of massage." I ran through the gamut of where her accent was from and came up with zip.
When we got to my place, Trinity didn't even notice the mess. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked. "I need to wash my hands."
After booting up my temperamental laptop, I pulled out my stash box and pipe and loaded it up for Trinity. She crawled into my unmade bed and proceeded to get high. I joined her, but after a while, I moved to the desk chair at the foot of the bed, trying to get my computer to work properly. Trinity got up and walked over to the two full-length mirrors attached to my closet door.
"I just met a sculptor who's going to pay me to model for him," she announced. "He said I had the perfect body for a sculptor."
As if to prove this point, Trinity stripped off all her clothing and proceeded to model it for me. If I had sculpted a woman's body to my ideal, it would have been hers. Perfect, flat stomach, cuppable little ass, perky breasts with nipples that the barely stirring air in my apartment kept erect and lovely. She walked towards me as I made sure to keep as much eye contact as humanly possible.
My computer was still attempting to cleanse itself with Norton so I asked Trinity if she would give me a massage in the meantime.
"Of course, baby," she said in that still unplaceable accent of hers.
Trinity walked back to the double mirrors, admiring her own naked body as she slowly pulled her clothes back on. I took off my shirt and asked what she wanted me to remove. Trinity told me to take off everything and I did.
I laid down on the bed. She asked if I had any oil and I immediately reached under the bed for my magic blue box, rustled through the condoms and lube, and retrieved the geranium and rosewood massage oil. Trinity turned up the stereo -- "Heart of Gold" by Neil Young -- and then proceeded to give me the strongest, best massage I have ever had. At one point, she discreetly covered the bottom of my ass and my balls with the sheet. Surprised as I was, I was able to respect the non-sexual tone and didn't get hard as this tremendously sexy woman worked magic on my naked body with her small, powerful hands.
As she was massaging me, Trinity said that she ought to detox me. "I know you've been putting a lot of bad things like drugs, alcohol and caffeine into your system, baby." What? At Burning Man? Never, wink wink.
She told me that she was suicidal a few days ago but that now she was fine because she has had her medicine -- pot. She was attempting to get medicinal marijuana prescribed through her lawyer.
"My lawyer is really the goddess Athena in disguise," Trinity informed me. I nodded.
After the massage and a hasty meal of mozzarella cheese, Trinity said that my ears were hairy and that she wanted to fix that for me. She started on the right one, apologizing for ripping hairs but the tweezers I'd given her were from the ninety-nine cent store and were, apparently, not up to the task. Partway into plucking my left ear, Trinity stopped and said we should go to her place so she could finish the job. She asked for some pot to and I let her take what she needed.
We took back alley shortcuts and scampered through near-empty parking lots to get from my place to her place. At some point, I started to hope that there actually was a "her place." We eventually reached her building, one of those huge Hollywood "artiste" apartments that I'd looked at while apartment hunting. We went inside and she told me to take off my shoes. I did, and then she gave me a tour. She didn't have much but what she did have was clean and comfortable.
Trinity and I got on her futon on the floor and fired up the bong as her cocker spaniel, LuLu, greeted us both with wet tongue and nose.
"I never really likes to wear clothes," Trinity moaned, taking hers off. I decided to follow her lead.
"Get comfortable, baby," she said. "I have to clean up a little for a date later, but we can hang out until then."
I stretched out on the futon. As Trinity cleaned in between bong hits, she told me that the place had to be clean because her date that night might be with Jesus Christ. She spoke in Hebrew to LuLu (and I finally got the accent), then assured me, "Lulu's very jealous of me. She tries to take attention away from me."
Then she launched into a tale about Arnold Schwarzenegger, who she told me was looking for her. "Arnold wants to have sex with me. He comes over but when I wake up in the morning, it's not Arnold but only someone who looks like him. I think it's Arnold's cousin. Arnold is testing me. But none of this really matters because I'm from another planet and none of this can really get me down."
She cleaned the small apartment for a good hour and I could not keep my eyes off her beautiful body, gazing longingly at her ass and pussy from behind as she bent to do her tasks. Wisely, I stayed put on the futon -- remarkably not hard. When she finished cleaning and modeling the dress that she might wear for her date, Trinity said, "Let's take a shower, baby."
I followed Trinity to the bathroom and began to step into the shower behind her. But she stopped me.
"Go get two towels from the hallway linen and sit there, baby."
She pointed to the closed toilet seat. I did as told and then watched Trinity scrub her body down like she was sanding the hardwood floors. Trinity shaved her legs, but when it came time to shave her very pretty little pussy, she pulled back the shower curtain, blocking my view. I asked if I could watch and she said, "No, baby."
As Trinity shaved, she began to speak very matter-of-factly.
"God is pimping me," she said. "I was cast as the Ho in Heaven. I sort of think of myself as the Holy Ho since it's God that's pimping me out." She told me that she was not happy with her lot in this life, but realized that since it was divination, there was really nothing she could do about it.
I was then invited into the shower. Trinity lathered up again, rinsed, and then handed me the soap. I was then, rather unceremoniously, left alone in the shower to finish up. I washed quickly, patted myself dry with the towel and went to find Trinity.
Finally, her date called and I watched her turn a little coquettish on the phone. I laughed. The whole day was absurd; better that than tragic, right? Call completed, Trinity asked if I could give her a little more pot for her date. Sure...why not?
We went back to my place to get the pot. Trinity and LuLu waited outside; neither of us thought that LuLu and Poe, my cat, would get on together. I brought Trinity out a small bag of pot -- "Could I have a little more, baby - maybe even some crumbs?" -- and I did as she asked of me.
She asked me to call her the following day so that "we can hang out, baby." I hugged her goodbye and then I went back inside and took care of myself with my cock in my left hand and Trinity's perfect body on my mind.
The following day, I was a little too exhausted to want to deal, so I didn't call Trinity until Tuesday. She didn't recognize my name on the phone at first, but eventually told me that she was freaking out -- "I've almost had two or three nervous breakdowns" -- as we made plans to meet.
I left a little late, figuring she wouldn't arrive on time, but I still had to wait for her when she came bounding down the steps towards me. Trinity was barely wearing a torn-off-at-shoulder "Vote Arnold" T-shirt and tight, black leggings. I had seen her naked for hours and yet the view down her shirt was still terribly sexy. She was carrying a Starbucks cold cup and I wondered briefly where she got the three or four dollars for the drink.
She hugged me warmly, trembling, her eyes moist. "I had a serious nervous breakdown and took it out on LuLu, baby. I'm attracting bad demons on the street because of my need for weed."
She was meeting a guy who did piercings to get some pot but she knew he was a bad spirit.
"I know I should avoid him but I need my medicine," she said.
She told me again of being abused, of living on the streets for three years. Tears came down her face, dripping on her chin, neck and chest. I held her tightly and told her that she could suck off some good energy from me, that I could spare it. But what else could I really do for this damaged individual? I wanted to help but I knew this was out of my league.
"My pot lawyer wants me to see a shrink," Trinity said. I latched onto that thread of hope and suggested that maybe that wasn't the worst idea in the world. I knew she needed more help than hugs and crumbs of marijuana from me.
I haven't seen Trinity since then.
Her number is still in my cell phone but I don't think I will ever call her. All I can do is keep an eye out for her whenever I roam the streets of Hollywood.
(c) Brian Mazo, 2005
ok, that's complete BS, but i am feeling lazy this morning. here's a true tale that appeared on ostrich ink first...
TRINITY, THE HOLY HO'
I was heading back towards home, walking west on Hollywood Boulevard. It was around McCadden that I passed a beautiful girl walking in the opposite direction.
I caught her gaze -- partially obscured behind her big, brown sunglasses -- and smiled. She smiled back as we slowed but continued past one another. I heard her say "hi" so I returned the greeting and slowed even further, trying to look back over my shoulder at her. She had stopped on the sidewalk and was looking back at me.
She called out, "Do I know you?"
I strolled back towards her and replied that I didn't think so, but left it open that I wanted to. Is this why I had been smiling at people in the street? Truly this was a remnant from Burning Man where we do stop and engage in lovely conversations with random goddesses.
And this girl was a vision. Her hair was tucked under a floppy, colorful hat, a black T-shirt stretched tightly across her chest, and her tan, taut belly was framed by low-cut, skintight Diesel jeans.
She told me her name was Trinity as she gave me her small hand to shake, then showed me an oft-folded letter from a law firm that informed the reader that the bearer, Trinity, was working for a charity called Peacock Feathers.
"Baby, do you have any pot?" she then blurted out in her sweetly accented voice.
I told Trinity, no, not on my person. She asked if I had some at home and I told Trinity that I did. We decided to go to my place to get stoned; I lived just around the corner.
Trinity took my arm as we started to walk the few blocks back to my messy apartment. She spoke a blue streak as we went, bouncing from subject to subject like a pinball. She told me that she had been abused and was wary when someone touched her but that she liked her arm through mine. She asked if I had a computer and whether or not I could make her some business cards for Peacock Feathers. I said I could try. Finally, she told me she was a trained massage therapist and that she would give me a massage in exchange for getting her stoned.
"A real massage," she stressed. "Not what people think when they think of massage." I ran through the gamut of where her accent was from and came up with zip.
When we got to my place, Trinity didn't even notice the mess. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked. "I need to wash my hands."
After booting up my temperamental laptop, I pulled out my stash box and pipe and loaded it up for Trinity. She crawled into my unmade bed and proceeded to get high. I joined her, but after a while, I moved to the desk chair at the foot of the bed, trying to get my computer to work properly. Trinity got up and walked over to the two full-length mirrors attached to my closet door.
"I just met a sculptor who's going to pay me to model for him," she announced. "He said I had the perfect body for a sculptor."
As if to prove this point, Trinity stripped off all her clothing and proceeded to model it for me. If I had sculpted a woman's body to my ideal, it would have been hers. Perfect, flat stomach, cuppable little ass, perky breasts with nipples that the barely stirring air in my apartment kept erect and lovely. She walked towards me as I made sure to keep as much eye contact as humanly possible.
My computer was still attempting to cleanse itself with Norton so I asked Trinity if she would give me a massage in the meantime.
"Of course, baby," she said in that still unplaceable accent of hers.
Trinity walked back to the double mirrors, admiring her own naked body as she slowly pulled her clothes back on. I took off my shirt and asked what she wanted me to remove. Trinity told me to take off everything and I did.
I laid down on the bed. She asked if I had any oil and I immediately reached under the bed for my magic blue box, rustled through the condoms and lube, and retrieved the geranium and rosewood massage oil. Trinity turned up the stereo -- "Heart of Gold" by Neil Young -- and then proceeded to give me the strongest, best massage I have ever had. At one point, she discreetly covered the bottom of my ass and my balls with the sheet. Surprised as I was, I was able to respect the non-sexual tone and didn't get hard as this tremendously sexy woman worked magic on my naked body with her small, powerful hands.
As she was massaging me, Trinity said that she ought to detox me. "I know you've been putting a lot of bad things like drugs, alcohol and caffeine into your system, baby." What? At Burning Man? Never, wink wink.
She told me that she was suicidal a few days ago but that now she was fine because she has had her medicine -- pot. She was attempting to get medicinal marijuana prescribed through her lawyer.
"My lawyer is really the goddess Athena in disguise," Trinity informed me. I nodded.
After the massage and a hasty meal of mozzarella cheese, Trinity said that my ears were hairy and that she wanted to fix that for me. She started on the right one, apologizing for ripping hairs but the tweezers I'd given her were from the ninety-nine cent store and were, apparently, not up to the task. Partway into plucking my left ear, Trinity stopped and said we should go to her place so she could finish the job. She asked for some pot to and I let her take what she needed.
We took back alley shortcuts and scampered through near-empty parking lots to get from my place to her place. At some point, I started to hope that there actually was a "her place." We eventually reached her building, one of those huge Hollywood "artiste" apartments that I'd looked at while apartment hunting. We went inside and she told me to take off my shoes. I did, and then she gave me a tour. She didn't have much but what she did have was clean and comfortable.
Trinity and I got on her futon on the floor and fired up the bong as her cocker spaniel, LuLu, greeted us both with wet tongue and nose.
"I never really likes to wear clothes," Trinity moaned, taking hers off. I decided to follow her lead.
"Get comfortable, baby," she said. "I have to clean up a little for a date later, but we can hang out until then."
I stretched out on the futon. As Trinity cleaned in between bong hits, she told me that the place had to be clean because her date that night might be with Jesus Christ. She spoke in Hebrew to LuLu (and I finally got the accent), then assured me, "Lulu's very jealous of me. She tries to take attention away from me."
Then she launched into a tale about Arnold Schwarzenegger, who she told me was looking for her. "Arnold wants to have sex with me. He comes over but when I wake up in the morning, it's not Arnold but only someone who looks like him. I think it's Arnold's cousin. Arnold is testing me. But none of this really matters because I'm from another planet and none of this can really get me down."
She cleaned the small apartment for a good hour and I could not keep my eyes off her beautiful body, gazing longingly at her ass and pussy from behind as she bent to do her tasks. Wisely, I stayed put on the futon -- remarkably not hard. When she finished cleaning and modeling the dress that she might wear for her date, Trinity said, "Let's take a shower, baby."
I followed Trinity to the bathroom and began to step into the shower behind her. But she stopped me.
"Go get two towels from the hallway linen and sit there, baby."
She pointed to the closed toilet seat. I did as told and then watched Trinity scrub her body down like she was sanding the hardwood floors. Trinity shaved her legs, but when it came time to shave her very pretty little pussy, she pulled back the shower curtain, blocking my view. I asked if I could watch and she said, "No, baby."
As Trinity shaved, she began to speak very matter-of-factly.
"God is pimping me," she said. "I was cast as the Ho in Heaven. I sort of think of myself as the Holy Ho since it's God that's pimping me out." She told me that she was not happy with her lot in this life, but realized that since it was divination, there was really nothing she could do about it.
I was then invited into the shower. Trinity lathered up again, rinsed, and then handed me the soap. I was then, rather unceremoniously, left alone in the shower to finish up. I washed quickly, patted myself dry with the towel and went to find Trinity.
Finally, her date called and I watched her turn a little coquettish on the phone. I laughed. The whole day was absurd; better that than tragic, right? Call completed, Trinity asked if I could give her a little more pot for her date. Sure...why not?
We went back to my place to get the pot. Trinity and LuLu waited outside; neither of us thought that LuLu and Poe, my cat, would get on together. I brought Trinity out a small bag of pot -- "Could I have a little more, baby - maybe even some crumbs?" -- and I did as she asked of me.
She asked me to call her the following day so that "we can hang out, baby." I hugged her goodbye and then I went back inside and took care of myself with my cock in my left hand and Trinity's perfect body on my mind.
The following day, I was a little too exhausted to want to deal, so I didn't call Trinity until Tuesday. She didn't recognize my name on the phone at first, but eventually told me that she was freaking out -- "I've almost had two or three nervous breakdowns" -- as we made plans to meet.
I left a little late, figuring she wouldn't arrive on time, but I still had to wait for her when she came bounding down the steps towards me. Trinity was barely wearing a torn-off-at-shoulder "Vote Arnold" T-shirt and tight, black leggings. I had seen her naked for hours and yet the view down her shirt was still terribly sexy. She was carrying a Starbucks cold cup and I wondered briefly where she got the three or four dollars for the drink.
She hugged me warmly, trembling, her eyes moist. "I had a serious nervous breakdown and took it out on LuLu, baby. I'm attracting bad demons on the street because of my need for weed."
She was meeting a guy who did piercings to get some pot but she knew he was a bad spirit.
"I know I should avoid him but I need my medicine," she said.
She told me again of being abused, of living on the streets for three years. Tears came down her face, dripping on her chin, neck and chest. I held her tightly and told her that she could suck off some good energy from me, that I could spare it. But what else could I really do for this damaged individual? I wanted to help but I knew this was out of my league.
"My pot lawyer wants me to see a shrink," Trinity said. I latched onto that thread of hope and suggested that maybe that wasn't the worst idea in the world. I knew she needed more help than hugs and crumbs of marijuana from me.
I haven't seen Trinity since then.
Her number is still in my cell phone but I don't think I will ever call her. All I can do is keep an eye out for her whenever I roam the streets of Hollywood.
(c) Brian Mazo, 2005