One of the most important things to know about Vladimir Karlov is that he doesn't wear glasses. He owns a pair, several pairs actually, all prescribed by Dr. Hanover, but he will not dare put them on for fear of losing an eye or two in a freak, but inevitable, accident that includes, but is not limited to, the following steps:

1.  Glasses shatter in a million pieces

2.  Millions of pieces of glass from said glasses shoot at a million miles an hour into his eye/eyes

3. The speed/velocity of the millions of pieces of razor sharp glass tears through his retinas and all other vital components that cooperate in the function of seeing, therefore destroying any chance of him viewing double d breasts from the angle of a woman's crotch whilst orally pleasuring her.

Vladimir Karlov is twelve. This is his dream.

From the time he knew what a vagina was, four, he has desired to taste one. In pre-school he raised his hand every day, and every day he asked the same question.  “Mrs. Marlow, how old do you have to be to kiss a vagina?”

Mrs. Marlow would sigh and give the same standard answer she gave him everyday, “Not ‘til you're older, Vladimir, not ‘til you're older.” Though Vladimir could not tell in his preschool days the way a woman will look when a woman really looks, he still recognizes that span of time as his most productive in the quest to get a woman naked and spread before him. His instincts are not far off, for Mrs. Marlow did, and still does, think about Vladimir from time to time. In conversation with her friends over morning coffee and weekend cocktails, she can be heard saying, “A child so young realizing the importance of cunnilingus can't be bad, it just can't be,” and, “I wonder if I had ever given him an answer if he would have believed it.”

The truth is, she did always want to give an answer. “It's never too young to start,” she thought about confessing one spring afternoon just after recess, during a time when she hadn't been orally pleased in months.

“Men just don't go down anymore.”

If only Vladimir could find sweet ol' Mrs. Marlow.

At the age of seven he was told he needed glasses. Being a highly intelligent young boy with a profound interest in weather patterns, climate change, and oceanic temperature, among many other things, Vladimir's first instinct and fear caused by the idea of glasses was based on the knowledge that glasses tend to fog up when subject to a drastic change in temperature. That being so, he was afraid that if he were wearing glasses when he was about to engage in the oral pleasuring of a woman, the glasses would fog up from the heat exuding from the vagina and he would fail in his mission to pleasure her. Along with his failure to pleasure her, he would also miss out on viewing her pointy breasts from such an angle. It was not until later in life that he feared the destruction of his eyes from shooting glass.

On Vladimir 's tenth birthday he witnessed something so inevitably tragic that it changed the course of his entire life, both socially and sexually. Socially, he would no longer eat birthday cake and sexually, he would no longer wear glasses.

He knew his mother would be heartbroken because if there was anything in this world that that woman enjoyed, it was baking birthday cakes, and each year she enjoyed it more and more. However, he could no longer live in fear of flying burning wax and as painful as it was going to be to tell his mother that with the turning of eleven he was going to opt for pudding, a dessert he decided would look the most absurd with any sort of burning candle accessory.

Vladimir had always been known for his powerful lungs; when he was a baby he blew so hard up a woman's skirt while lying in his carriage that the fabric tore and she was left standing in nothing but her under garments at the intersection of two busy thoroughfares. Truckers were relentless with their honking and, though she was red and embarrassed, Vladimir knew the look of flattery when he saw it.  When she gazed down at the culprit to witness her first glimpse of an erect baby, he saw it written all over her face and all over her panties.

An excerpt from Vladimir's journal on his tenth birthday's fateful events:

It wasn't my fault. My mother always said, ‘You have the gift of powerful lungs, Vladimir, so you must be very careful,' but I was excited. Too excited perhaps, though how can one tell, for as they say, ‘hindsight is twenty-twenty.' Perhaps I was of a perfect excitement level and Paula was just too damn close to the damn cake. What was she putting her fat face so close to the cake for anyway?  Isn't it tradition for the birthday boy to get the first piece?  Not fat aunts with nothing else to do but put their fat faces in the range of a man who has gifted lungs and who is about to blow out candles on a birthday cake? How does that woman live like that, at a complete loss of her surroundings? Sure I'm sorry. Of course I am, but more to the point, I'm terrified of the consequences these events may hold on my own life. To be exact, hot candle wax and chocolate frosting with the power to shatter glass. What could this possibly mean? I wear glasses and I'm also quite fond of attending birthday parties, sometimes several a year, and my social skills are improving day by day.  Who knows how many birthday parties I'll be attending in the near future? Twenty? Thirty? A hundred? I'm quite personable and I know how to juggle. Who's to say I won't be next? Sure I have enough self control to back away from the cake whilst the birthday boy/girl is about to take part in the ceremonious blowing, not to sound sexual, though Theresa didn't look too shabby at the party today, and she's been ten for several months now, something I find absolutely captivating. The idea that I may have a fetish for older women fascinates me, but enough about Theresa and her thigh-length skirts. Who's to say I won't be next? Who's to say my glasses won't shatter? Who's to say I'll ever orally pleasure a woman? I fear the worst. The glasses must go.

The next day he pulled the glasses off and vowed to never wear them again. He called the hospital every half hour the rest of the day for updates on his Aunt Paula's condition. She was fine and had checked out after several hours, but every time he called the same woman answered, so he kept calling. She had a smoker's voice and went by the name of Grenadine. He thought he might have to have an incident with his pinky toe real soon to get down there and meet this Grenadine. If nothing else, the lady could probably drink and that's never bad when you're trying to steal some kisses in regions covered up by Theresa's short skirts. Perhaps Grenadine could even give him a few pointers.

“Now Vladimir, when you start in on me, make sure to go slow at first. Kiss a little bit here and a little bit there, don't just go kiss crazy, I won't like that.”

“You got it sweetheart, I'll kiss you all you want down here, but lose the bra will ya.”

“Sure I'll lose the bra, Vladimir, sure I will. You just get to kissing.”

I'm kissing, Grenadine, oh am I kissing, he thought.

Two years later and he never broke his pinky toe. He never broke anything and his daytime lusting and nighttime fondling for Grenadine's voice grew tiresome. Her smoky influence had dissipated and was replaced by his babysitter Jessica and her black pants, which seemed to have been made exclusively of latex, something Vladimir knew little about, but assumed that her choice in the rubber-band fabric was a hint at her desire for him to tear her out of it.

One night while a bit drunk on his father's scotch, he sat up on the couch next to ol' Jessica and put his hand on her thigh.

“So… Jessica, if I read the note on the counter correctly, and I believe I did, the parents won't be back 'til sometime after midnight.”

“That's what it says.”

“Don't you find it interesting that my parents would leave us all alone on a perfectly exquisite Friday night like this?”

“They went to dinner.”

“Ahh yes, of course. Dinner. The event of the century for those of us too old to pleasure in the finer things in life, such as a nice night with a nicely aged scotch and a nice lady with her nice legs wrapped up in a nice, but seemingly suffocating, terrestrial fabric.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight, Vlad?”

“Now Jessica, I've noticed that my hand is on your leg.”

“Quite a bit then?”

“And not just your leg, but your thigh. Your upper thigh.”

“Vlad.”

“Just inches from a certain area I know you haven't had fulfilled in some time. What say you let me do something about that, Jessica?”

Hours passed and the scotch kept on filling itself. Jessica was still clothed and Vladimir was still talking.

“Hey Jessica, Jessica my girl, did I ever tell you about how I fell in love with a nurse?  Her name was Grenadine and she let me go down on her anytime I wanted.”

“She let me look at her breasts from down there too, Jessica. She took her bra off, Jessica; she took it off and left it off.”

“She gave me hints, Grenadine did, real good hints too, hints on how to really get the job done, and boy did those hints work. I got the job done like none other, so well done in fact she still calls from time to time, drunk and alone, preaching to the choir about my skills in that area. I say, ‘Grenadine my sweet, I have you to thank and only you, but you must stop this calling. Your flattery is appreciated, your praise, gospel, but I've moved on and you must as well. You see Grenadine, I've fallen for another, and though she denies my attempts to orally pleasure her, I'm steadfast in my commitment to her and some day she will let me kiss her vagina like you once let me do, a time so long ago.' Sure there are tears, but when are there not when love is involved?”

“Vlad, please take your hand off my leg.”

“Do you know who that girl is, Jessica? Do you know who that girl is who I broke Grenadine's heart for?”

“Vladimir. Your hand.”

“Why it's you Jessica, you. It's for you whom I long to orally pleasure, like I did so long ago to poor Grenadine.”

“Please remove your hand.”

“Oh yes, of course. My hand. It was mighty close wasn't it? Where are my manners?” 

Vladimir removes his hand and picks up the glass of scotch from the end table. He takes several sips from it.

“How many is that, Vlad?”

Vladimir feigns surprise, “My oh my, where are my manners tonight, would you like me to make you one?”

“No, and I think you've had enough.”

“Nothing of it, Jessica, but perhaps you're right. This shall be my last for the evening. Then we can retire, the two of us, to my room where candles now fragrance the sheets with jasmine and lavender. Or is it bergamot?  I can never tell.  That's more of a woman's specialty, isn't it?  Scents and bath salts and what not. You women have a scent all your own while we men emit such a musk I fear it may be too overwhelming for your soft senses to bear. Lucky for you, mine has been toned by a bath I took prior to your arrival. A bath goes so well with the first scotch of the night, wouldn't you agree?”

“It's getting to be about your bedtime.”

“I'm in complete agreement.”

Vladimir drinks down the last of the liquid and sets it on the table. “The sound of ice chatting with glass is captivating, is it not Jessica?”

“Bedtime, Vlad.”

“Anxious are we?  And as well you should be, for the pleasuring I'm about to give you will be something you'll not soon forget. Please accept my apology for the leisurely demeanor; I guess if I think about it in the way you must be, I'd be anxious as well. Come then, let's retire.”

Vladimir takes her by the hand and stands before her. Jessica doesn't move, exhausted by his advances.

“Vlad, please go to bed.”

Vladimir kisses her hand.

“Is it the alcohol that you fear, Jessica? Believe me, your fears are unwarranted.  The scotch is simply a vitamin, nothing more, it will never be as important as you, nor will it ever take place of pleasuring you. Fear not, sweet Jessica. Fear not.”

His sincerity is glossy but true.

“Good night, Vladimir”

He clings to her hand and kisses it again as she tries to take it back. After some time she succeeds and Vladimir is standing before her, disappointed but not defeated.

All at once, Vladimir falls to his knees before Jessica, grabbing onto each of her thighs and squeezing them with all his strength. 

“My name's Vladimir Karlov, Jessica, and I have gifted lungs. Let me orally pleasure, you Jessica. Let me orally pleasure you with my gifted lungs. Let me, Jessica, before they give out.”

Finally Jessica sighs, raises her chin to the ceiling, and allows Vladimir to fill his gifted lungs. They never gave out.

© 2006 Tyke Johnson